


Jaskier Fucked A God

by edgy_fluffball



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Bardic Inspiration, Bathtubs, Cutting Words, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, F/F, Gaelic Songs Used For Inspiration, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier Fucked A God, Jaskier Has Chaos, Jaskier Is A Good Lay, Jaskier is a D&D Bard, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Prompt Fic, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn, magical healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgy_fluffball/pseuds/edgy_fluffball
Summary: Jaskier is still grieving the loss of the exceptional lover who recently tipped his world upside down when new developments change everything he ever knew...orJaskier (unknowingly) slept with a god and got D&D-style bard magic out of it. Geralt does not trust his new abilities and the pair set out to find the reason for the chaos newly interwoven in Jaskier's words and music. Along the way, they find more than they bargained for and make some discoveries.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 291
Kudos: 824
Collections: Best Geralt





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on an idea by @hornyspacesnakes over on Tumblr and I started to warp this little thing together. As usual, it grew...

He was used to being woken up with varying degrees of violence and showers of insults first thing in the morning. He had been subjected to cuckolded spouses brandishing their blades at him, wives coming at him with brooms and rolling pins, parents screaming blue murder and friends attempting to pay him off like a common whore before throwing him out of the house. There had been hey stacks, inns, ditches, state beds, lakes and humble bedrooms.

Over the years, he had made his way up North and South again, had seen the East and tried to go West, beyond what he knew to expect. He had met many people and fallen in love with most of them for a while. He had gotten used to sleeping under the stars and never forget how comfortable a bed near a fire could be. He had worn down countless pairs of shoes and bought trinkets and gifts for people he would never see again. His senses grew keener and yet, he never saw the trouble coming for him before it struck.

Jaskier felt himself being tugged and torn into all four cardinal directions when he stayed in one place for too long. When he had been a child, he had not known how to identify the urge to dodge the nursemaid his parents employed to keep him out of trouble, run away and leave Lettenhove behind to find his way in a world not equipped for a nipper like him. He had not known why he did not feel at home in the warm, loving embrace of his mother who cuddled and coddled, why he felt like his father could not teach him what he craved to know, why he felt like he was free when he got the opportunity to run free into the direction he felt like going to.

His parents had allowed him to leave, go to see the world for himself, eventually. He had gotten as far as Oxenfurt before he got stuck for a bit, still fighting the urge to follow the tug to wherever it felt he should be without knowing why he would be supposed to leave. There was no name for it and despite all the time he spent on studying the seven liberal arts, no concept of destiny and providence felt big enough to cover the way he felt whenever he thought about it. He learned how to direct his awareness towards that point behind his ribs where his heart beat against the cage he had constructed around it, containing his wanderlust, and tried to channel it into his creative inspiration.

Even the position offered to him as one of the youngest professors at the esteemed academy could not hold him there for long. He had needed to move, wander and see the world again. He had made his way east, met a Witcher and experienced real adventures for once. Given the nature of Geralt’s path and the constant travelling beyond the boundaries of all the lands Jaskier had seen, it felt only right for him to join his new friend on his travels.

Still, he felt the tug drawing him away again every once in a while, away from Geralt who did not question his departures, taking off without a good-bye more often than not himself. It grew stronger, sometimes, as if there was some urgency to it but by the time Jaskier found a place to stay and willing company to distract himself with, the feeling subsided, let him have his peace for a night before he was woken up again by angry spouses and inn keepers demanding the night’s bill be covered immediately.

When he travelled with Geralt, he tried to listen to the way his heart beat, whether it demanded he take off again or let him stay and relinquish the futile wandering. More often than not, he got to follow Geralt for weeks before it got stronger, hungry and demanding.

He had no explanation for it but it made a great subject of songs speaking of the lost, wandering bard, damned and cursed to leave every place he grew to love behind, breaking hearts where he planned to take root and ended up leaving again on the first gust of wind blowing him away. The songs were popular and he sang them whenever he got the chance, they were soft and melancholy, tormented by fate and destiny, made men weep and women want to warm his heart, believing it cold and lonely.

It worked; the songs made sure he did not have to sleep by himself or on the side of the road all too often when he was on his own, did not have to dream of the horrors he could not place when awake, did not see the darkness swallow the light and song in his life, night after night, again and again. Company in his bed and by his side helped him get up in the morning with a smile in his eyes and a song on his lips as he climbed out of windows and ran along muddy streets to escape the looming punishment he was to receive, were he to stick around. His songs made his feet fall easier on the road, allowed him to skip over brooks and rocks, dance under the sun and thread through raindrops. They provided shelter and coin for him, sometimes more than just that. Sometimes, they procured a first smile that lay the foundation for the night ahead.

He knew his songs were catchy, he had written them to be. People knew them already before he performed them at inns and taverns, they had been carried through the continent by many bards sharing his work and firmly taken root in their ears and mind by the time he took his lute out of her case. Once they realised he was the creator, the true poet behind the sweet tunes and that he was with them, in their home, he got his fair share of patrons buying drinks for him, asking questions, seeking council.

Jaskier had met young women close to despair of their fiancés, young men desperate to find out whether they could dare to approach the girl of their dreams, women in tears about their husbands and what they felt was missing in their lives. They came to him, the wordsmith, seeking a remedy, a way to right the wrongs they perceived. He listened patiently, consoled and soothed them, with a hand to the shoulder or a kind word, gave advice where he felt it was needed and played match-maker by stepping into someone’s way, forcing them into a tumble to be caught by their favoured. The words he could give were his medicine for the world, his way to give back.

He took pride in his success rate and shared his experience and secret knowledge with those in need of a revival of their love life. He took pride in the number of happy couples promising him an invitation to their weddings, the amount of times he was asked to sing as they danced as husband and wife for the first time. He tried to be there, be part of the reasons making their big day memorable.

He tried.

The invisible hook, the tugging siren’s call of his life that dragged him across the continent without warning him of where he would end up, the shard of destiny he could not explain, locked in place behind his ribs, not always allowed him the pleasure of seeing where his efforts led. Sometimes, he found himself back on the road long before the wedding ceremony even began. Sometimes, he forced himself to stay but weddings were something connected to bad memories and the taste of storms and ashes on his tongue. It felt like fleeing, whenever he had the time to think about what it made him move again. He had learned not to question it. The real trouble arose only when he chose to fight it.

***

‘Wake up!’

He still smelled the efforts of the night before on the pillow beneath his head when he opened his eyes to sunlight flooding his room at the academy where he had retired to once he had finished playing at the tavern down the road. It had been a night spent with a rare beauty like he not often came across on his travels. At first, he had thought him a woman with fine features and soft eyes, hair curling over narrow shoulders and expensive jewellery glittering on fingers, around a graceful neck and from ears that seemed almost elven as he approached him during his set. Just as Jaskier had finished playing, he had reached the front of the room where he had packed up his lute and gifted him a smile, a quick once-over. It had knocked the breath out of his lungs to take him in, lithe and lissom, perfectly glowing with youthful beauty and a smile that seemed to transcend the possible.

They had not exchanged many words beyond the warm praise Jaskier had received for his play and they had returned to his chambers where the night began anew. The scent of flowers and sweat still clung to the sheets they had fallen asleep in, tangled together and blissfully worn out.

A harsh, pounding knock on his door interrupted his attempt to recall his conquest’s features in their entirety, disturbed the search for a name, any content of the conversation they had exchanged on their way back to the academy lodgings before Jaskier had captured his lips in a telling kiss, desperate for something that left him itching and lacking, something that made him feel good. He came up with nothing, no name, no information, and just as he realised that he could ask, embarrassing as it was to ask a name only after they had spent a night together in breathless ecstasy, he found the bed next to himself empty and cold with no trace left of what he could only describe as the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.

‘Dammit, Jaskier!’

He knew that voice. Jaskier forcefully pushed every thought of the past night aside, jumped out of his bed and dove for his discarded shirt on the floor, ripped open and useless as it was. He winced, filled with the sweetest pain of sore muscles in all the right places, and wrestled the shirt over his head.

The door burst open, splintering under the rough touch it had been subjected to, slammed into the wall and dropped to the floor, narrowly avoiding Jaskier’s toes and crushing them. He jumped back with a shriek that he wished he could have kept back a moment later as he came up against a sharp blade pointed into his face. The shriek would have fitted into that situation a lot more than when he had danced around merely losing his toes a second before.

‘Forgive me, Professor Pankratz, he just stormed past –‘

Jaskier waved for the valet to leave them and the boy turned around on his heel to run away, leaving Jaskier with the sword still resting at his throat and the face of an old travel companion in front of him. Geralt’s eyes were wide, staring in shock, if Jaskier read the signs correctly. The sword was tipped against his throat, pressing into the soft, delicate skin over his vocal chords.

Silver, he realised.

‘What happened?’ Geralt did not lower the sword, instead, he began to push Jaskier into the room, guiding him with the sword whilst his gaze darted around as if hunting for something.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him, ‘I would love to give you an answer to your question, it just eludes me what you mean. You woke me up, though, and I had the most glorious dream –‘

‘It stinks,’ Geralt cut him off, ‘reeks. Something happened, something bad. Magic.’

‘Magic?’ Jaskier laughed, tension rolling off his shoulders like a warm spring shower as relief bloomed in his stomach, ‘I can tell you about the kind of magic that happened in this room, alright. Let me see, there was this gorgeous, fair youth, a true monument to the ingenuity of the gods, if you ask me, a marvellously delicious – he was bendy, I can tell you as much. Although, of course, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. It was divine, really. Don’t think I’ve had this many –‘

‘Enough,’ Geralt growled, ‘dreams, all dreams.’

‘I beg your pardon, to accuse me of dreaming up a wonder like that? He was real and in my chambers all night, I’ll have you know, we were busy. I barely closed my eyes before you so rudely burst in!’

‘Where is he, then?’

‘He left. That’s the thing with love’s sweet course, it never does run smooth, after all.’

‘Jaskier, the door was locked from the inside when I tried to open it first and the room reeks of magic, yet you are here by yourself.’

Jaskier blinked at him for a moment before looking around the room. Geralt was right, he had managed to lock the door out of habit before his mystery lover had all but pounced on him. There was no sign of another person having been in the room overnight.

‘I must have heard him leave and locked the door behind him again,’ Jaskier shrugged and looked through his linen chest for some fresh clothing, ‘I’ve started to sleepwalk, or so I’ve been told. Anyway, what brings you here at this time of year?’

Geralt still sniffed around the room but had sheathed his sword again, ‘It’s spring, I’m heading south. Oxenfurt was on the way.’

‘And you figured you would check in on me? That’s sweet,’ Jaskier grabbed a few pieces from the chest, ‘as far as I know, there are no terrifying, Witcher-demanding monsters in the vicinity. Where were you going to turn to next?’

Geralt turned around and watched him, Jaskier could tell by the prickling in the back of his neck even before the gruff voice demanded to know, ‘What are you doing?’

Jaskier looked up and back over his shoulder. Geralt stood in between the bed and the ruined, splintered door. His hands hung limply down by his side, useless as he stood in the midst of fine covers, books and the small trinkets and luxuries the bard had accumulated throughout his career. He looked so out of place that Jaskier felt the urge to pat him on the shoulder.

‘If you don’t know where you’ll be heading next, maybe I should come with you for a bit, help you figure it out.’

‘Is that why you’re packing all of that?’

Jaskier looked at his hands. He still wore the shirt he had barely thrown on before the door had sprung open and nothing else. His travel pack sat on the chest in front of him, filled with doublets and trousers, shirts and his set of travelling necessities already. Looking at it, he felt it. The tug behind his heart, telling him his time at Oxenfurt was over once again.

‘Oh would you look at that,’ he smiled instead, laughing at Geralt, ‘I seem to have made up my mind already.’

Geralt did not grace him with another answer but when Jaskier left his quarters just before midday after wrapping up his business at the academy, deposited his keys waiting for his return at the gatehouse and strode into the first warm sunlight of the year, the Witcher stood in the middle of the courtyard, Roach by his side. Jaskier greeted her with an apple he had snuck from the kitchen and gave her a fond pat down the withers. The mare rubbed her head against his chest and the fresh shirt and doublet he had put on under his travelling cloak, as if she needed her scent back on him after the months they had been apart. Geralt broke off their moment with a grunt and took her reins, leading her out of the courtyard and towards the great road and Jaskier fell into step with him again easily enough, almost as if he had not left their side for a single day.

They found their way towards the South and got the first miles behind them but the urgent tug made Jaskier stride out wider, take bigger steps into the new journey, even walk ahead of Geralt. Only once the city disappeared behind the gentle slope of the hills surrounding it, Jaskier felt a weight lifted off his shoulders.

He felt a melody build on his lips and when it broke out into the world, his fingers picking notes and weaving them together into a harmony, it was ready to welcome the words once they came to him. As Geralt got onto Roach’s back to ride on, brows furled and lips tight, Jaskier hummed and tested the feeling of words on his tongue. With nothing of his elusive lover left but his own, fast-fading memories, he saw fit to cherish him in a song, describing his exceptional beauty. He turned it into the melancholy call for something he had possessed and lost subsequently on a gust of wind, not paying attention for a mere wink. He could picture it already, in all its glory, a stanza to describe his appearance, one to praise their spirited conversation and one to tell of his miraculous disappearance from his embrace. The last stanza was going to ask the gods to deliver him back to him, pleading to grant him this special love once more.

Whenever they met and travelled together on the Path, something seemed to slot into place that was amiss otherwise. Jaskier could not explain what it was that made his heart beat harder and faster when he saw Geralt, what was behind the urge to stay by his side and sing his praises. Even if Geralt grunted and told him to keep up, stay close or go away.

‘What do you think of the song so far?’ Jaskier skipped up to Geralt and Roach, strumming his lute dramatically, ‘I think it is a ballad for the ages already!’

‘Sounds like a stripling punter’s wailing after his first trip to the brothel,’ Geralt huffed and coaxed Roach into a canter, ‘come on, can’t start dawdling now.’

Jaskier put the lute back on his back and followed Geralt, complaining quietly about there being no use in hurrying up without a goal or expected time of arrival. He swore he saw Geralt grin, for just the blink of an eye.


	2. Chapter 2

Every time they met up again, it took them a few days to find back into their pattern of empty threats and joyful ignorance. The first night on the road saw Jaskier fumble with the flint for a moment before Geralt had mercy on him and took over. He did not comment on it but Jaskier could imagine all too well what he thought of the time he spent at the academy and the way that servants saw to the professors whilst they resided in Oxenfurt. He very likely thought him to grow lazy and accustomed to luxury until he was of even less use once he returned to the road. Geralt did not need to say it for Jaskier knew how to read his face and understood each of the little sounds he omitted whilst lighting the fire for both of them before setting off to hunt their dinner.

Jaskier was not deluded. He knew he was of little use whilst they were out in the wilderness and Geralt took the brunt of whatever challenge they came across with the naturalness of the outset coming with their contrasting careers. In their way, they complemented each other with Geralt making sure Jaskier would survive in the wildlands and Jaskier earning their keep whenever they reached a settlement, allowing them to save some coin for dire times between themselves.

Geralt would not admit it, of course but whenever Jaskier joined him on his travels, coin came to him easier and he was more likely to get a whole night’s sleep at an inn, rather than being thrown out in the middle of the night, or not put up at all. They both knew about the merits their company meant to either of them and Jaskier was quick to point out his part in it all whenever Geralt told him to stop being a nuisance.

He had lost the hurtful tone long ago.

They made their way through South Redania and came close to the Temerian borders when they got word of a possible contract, the first one on this leg of their journey together, as Jaskier liked to call it, describing the time he needed to find his footing again. A griffin had taken up residence in the fields surrounding Dorian and attacked merchants on their way from Vizima. The town had been without major trade supplies for weeks, according to the alderman Geralt spoke to, and was close to hunger and poverty taking over.

‘We can’t go on without the produce brought here from the capital. Dorian is not equipped to survive without trade. We need that griffin gone as soon as possible,’ the old man wrung his hands and nodded to the account books on the desk in front of him, ‘if you rid us of this pest, we will reward you accordingly, we still have enough to pay you. The town is desperate.’

‘I see,’ Geralt nodded for Jaskier to follow him outside again, ‘consider it done.’

‘We’ll be back for the payment, naturally,’ Jaskier smiled at the alderman, ‘and could you point us to the next inn? We’ll be in need of a place to stay and rest after we defeat this mighty griffin of yours.’

‘Of course,’ the alderman hurried to say, ‘the _Fading Shield_ is the best we have to offer.’

Jaskier thanked him with a brief nod before he followed Geralt outside where Roach stood and gnawed on a patch of weeds. Geralt had already taken a few of his belongings off her back and loosened the knot holding her to the hitching post. He looked up when he heard him approach, stopping his apologetic whispers into her ear for a moment.

‘Lovely man,’ Jaskier came to a halt next to him, ‘so, what’s next? Do you need to get anything specific, this is the first contract of the season, do you have your potions ready? What’ll it be for a griffin?’

Geralt hrumphed and took his pack off Roach’s back, ‘Swallow, probably, afterwards. There is not much more I can do to prepare. They attack from the sky with an advantage, it’ll be a challenge to get it out of the air and into ground combat. If it tackles me, there’s nothing I can do.’

Jaskier absentmindedly played with his lute, ‘I know you’ll tell me to stay put, especially with a creature like that. You told me last year when you fought that Bruxa and I still came with you.’

‘Yes, and you got a broken leg out of it when her scream sent you flying. This is a griffin, Jaskier, not an overgrown bird. It attacks from the sky, uses weaknesses and is merciless in doing so. It would see you and me approach, it would charge at you, knowing that –‘ Geralt interrupted himself from continuing, ‘You’re human. You could die. I’m not taking you with me.’

‘Then, I’m afraid, I will have to go by myself,’ Jaskier set his jaw, ‘The first contract of the year, Geralt. People are thirsting for new tunes to sing and heroics to marvel at. You cannot deny me the honour of being there for the first real fight!’

‘I fought –‘

‘A drowner, Geralt, yes, I’ve seen lots of them already whilst travelling with you and on my own. A griffin, though, that would be sublime to see,’ he decided to push a few buttons that had worked with Geralt before, ‘please.’

Geralt passed him without as much as looking at him again and tugged Roach along the street. Jaskier felt his throat burn with words unspoken, desperate to say something else, something he deemed worthy of his friend, something that was bound to finally make him see what he saw in him. As so often, words evaded him as he tried to convey what it meant to him to watch Geralt work; that he needed to see him do well and succeed, that he could hardly bear not travelling with him for a few weeks for worry that something may happen to him, despite leaving his side so readily when he felt the tug drawing him away.

In a way that was particular to them, Geralt never gave his consent to Jaskier accompanying him, he never had and this far into their companionship, it was unlikely Jaskier would ever hear him approve of his presence out loud. Geralt stayed mostly silent but once they had their first brief run-in that set them back onto their trail, he would at least no longer voice his open displeasure as Jaskier tagged along.

They were halfway through the hunting preparations already, Geralt had coated his sword in hybrid oil and looked through his potions and saddle bags to see what he had left whilst Jaskier sat on a barrel with crossed legs and tuned his lute, humming along, when a man came running through the town gate. He wore plain clothing, evidently a farmer, and he screamed at the top of his lungs.

‘It’s got another one, the beast has another merchant,’ he waved behind himself, to the road leading up to the town, ‘it’s going to rip him apart!’

‘Fuck,’ Geralt grabbed his swords and loosened Roach’s reins, swung himself into the saddle and hauled Jaskier up behind himself with one arm before spurring her on.

‘What’s the plan?’ Jaskier panted out, ‘do you know what to do when we get there, because if you don’t, I might have an idea of how to achieve something like an advantage for you. I could try and distract it.’

‘No!’

‘Don’t refuse me before I even got a chance to tell you! I mean, I could pretend to be very innocent and nothing more than a harmless wandering bard who is just walking along that road by himself, without a scary Witcher following him into this mess. Maybe, it would open up a possibility for you to attack and strike at it.’

‘No,’ Geralt rode on, ‘too dangerous, you’re keeping away.’

‘Yeah, I don’t think so. It’s a good idea, the best we can have at this point, and you know it. That griffin likely won’t chase me immediately and you’ll have the time and possibility to sneak up on it and hit it in the side.’

‘Jaskier, I said no!’

‘Well, I say yes!’

The decision was taken off their hands a few moments later when a blood-curdling, screeching scream ripped through the air, accompanied by a tremendous wing beat. Without waiting another moment, Jaskier let himself fall off Roach’s back despite Geralt’s loud protest and angry shouting.

Jaskier landed on his feet like a cat pushed off a ledge. He cradled his lute close to his chest, still without as much of a plan as he wanted to be, but with a vague idea of what he intended to achieve. The only things he knew about griffins were the stories he had been told by his grandparents, his grandmother especially, who had loved to scare him and his siblings with gruesome stories of flying horrors, undead child murderers and other creeping dangers. Jaskier had loved the chill running down his spine, the vivid images building up in his mind. In a way, his grandmother and her stories had been the foundation for his own story-weaving and word-forging.

He ignored Geralt’s shouting behind him and began to strum his lute with the opening chords of his most recent creation, the outline of the song in compliment to his bedfellow. It had grown in length and expressiveness, described his beauty and charm, the soft smile and sensitive conversation they had shared, the way his eyes had shone when Jaskier had agreed to sing something for him, all whilst worshipping him. He had followed soft lines with his lips, pressed kisses to warm skin, hummed and sung deep in his throat. He had wrapped his tongue around the prettiest songs in elder to express his adoration. Writing about love came to him so easy, after years of practise.

It was quiet and muted, compared to many of his other songs. It had felt wrong to boast about this particular experience since Jaskier had felt like holding a creature made of glass, someone in need of warmth, devotion and all the love Jaskier had been able to give in that moment. The song had turned into a declaration of love for every elusive bedpartner he had had that meant the world to him for a night when only Geralt proved to be a constant in his life despite the friendship they shared being something he denounced at every given opportunity.

This friendship was what gave him the courage to saunter up towards the crossroads where a merchant’s cart was toppled over and abandoned whilst the griffin swooped in for another attack from the sky. Jaskier began to sing, loud and proud, as if nothing in the world would be able to stop him.

_‘A flower in a ditch_

_Is softer on the wind_

_Than one expensive kiss_

_Paid for by one who sinned._

_For true beauty is elusive,_

_A whisper in my mind,_

_Your touch should be exclusive_

_But life is not that kind._

_I see you and I wonder_

_How I deserve your love_

_Cause you tore me asunder_

_With nothing but a touch._

_I give my love so freely,_

_Ask nothing in return_

_For when it comes to feeling,_

_All I can do is burn._

_The gods carved you in marble_

_Gave you the breath of life,_

_With everything they garble,_

_You are their goal for strive.’_

He had not yet had the chance to move on to the stanzas describing the starlight on his lover’s skin and the longing in his heart, when he griffin finally took note of him. It shrieked and flapped its eagle wings, coming to a halt mid-air. Jaskier could feel his heart beat in his throat as he took another brave step forward, strumming his lute and whistling the tune, rather than singing, for his vocal chords abandoned him in the face of the ferocious beast screaming at him from the sky. Its wings whirled up the dust off the road in an attempt to cloud itself from him.

The griffin was fast, he saw as much in the pure strength coming to play under the fur and feathers where corded muscles worked and moved. There was no telling whether it had the merchant in its claws or he had gotten away before, Jaskier hoped for the best as he approached. He was no longer able to spot Geralt or Roach anywhere but then again, if the Witcher had understood what he had been playing at, he would be making his way around.

‘Here you go, Jaskier, putting your neck out for Geralt and creating a diversion he will hopefully get to use. Have you read too many adventurers’ diaries over the winter months or why did you think it adequate to even offer –‘

The griffin rudely interrupted his train of thought by diving towards him with a shriek, ready to grasp and attack him with its claws. For a moment, he was struck by what felt like genuine fear. Stinking breath hit him, smelling of warm blood and rotten air. The stench alone made him retch but he kept going, seemingly unfazed by the danger.

Then, he saw Geralt approach from the other side, carefully making his way towards the griffin’s flank that Jaskier assumed was a weak spot. He tried not to show any signs of nerves but could not hide the slight waver in his voice that snuck its way through his words when he returned his attention to the griffin that got rather close to him. It took him a split second to regain his wits but then, he pushed the lute to his back, opened his arms wide and sing-songed into its rather close and scary eagle beak.

_‘Lovers are sneaky_

_they don't make a sound,_

_When husbands come home_

_they'll never be found.’_

The griffin roared at him and Jaskier ducked out of the way of its beak as it got close to his shoulder. He jumped to the side and tried to right himself up without tripping over his feet. There were stones hidden in the high grass that were treacherous underneath his soft soles. It did not seem to please the griffin to have lost its target in one swift motion. It reared up onto its lion hind legs and took a swipe at him with its talons. Jaskier cursed and tried to spot Geralt around, dancing out of the way of the beak, talons and tail that whipped through the air and tried to grapple him.

A single, nearly inaudible sound interrupted the screeching and screaming. It was nothing more than a whimper, coming from somewhere behind the abandoned cart where the grass had been flattened by the griffin as it dove towards the ground. The merchant was still alive, apparently. Jaskier felt a groan rise up in his throat. Ducking again, he moved to draw the beast away, barely avoiding the sharp beak taking a snap at his backside.

‘Fuck, Geralt,’ he breathed, feeling a stitch in his side and a slash on his back, ‘I really hope you’re here. Would be really fucking typical to rid yourself of me like that.’

He grabbed a stone from the ground and hurled it at the griffin. A flash of confidence surged through him as it hit the beast straight between its eyes and made its head snap around to him at the same time as a white head appeared out of the grass behind it. Jaskier let out a scream, no longer even attempting to sing.

_‘We've made it this far,_

_We've stayed somewhat sane,_

_If you screw up now,_

_We'll all die in vain.‘_

Geralt launched himself at the griffin, his silver sword in one hand, holding out the other to cast Aard. His face was pulled into a grimace of wrath, eyes wild and furious. The first blow hit, the beast screeched and threw itself at Geralt who parried a first swipe of the talons with the steel sword before drawing his arm back in an attempt to slice at the griffin. It was confined to the ground, still being held in place by the spell and all the might the Witcher could muster but the creature still kicked at him and screamed, deafening screeches surely affecting its new attacker and his heightened senses.

Geralt howled in pain. Jaskier had not been able to distinguish between the silver sword and the sharp beak, the movement was too fast and there were too many sounds to tell apart. The cry of pain, however, was clear in its source.

‘Gods, Geralt,’ he tried to get closer and find anything he could help with, an angle at which he would not end up in Geralt’ way but had to take a jump back when a blade clattered to the ground.

Once again, he found himself confined to the side as the real fight took place without his involvement. It left him feeling inadequate, useless as Geralt risked his life. He had enabled him to get close but that had been it. The rest was watching and listening out for the tell-tale garbled ‘run’ Geralt threw out for him when he felt like the fight might stretch to reach him.

Jaskier hated it. He wanted to be able to support and help Geralt with more than his music and the coin he earned them when they happened upon a well-disposed settlement. At the end of the day, however, Jaskier found being a humble bard was of little promise in a fight and it left him unable to do what he wished to achieve with every day that he woke up to greet it at Geralt’s side.

There was no way he could be of use to Geralt.

Stubborn and bold in a way he had not thought possible, he picked up another handful of fist-sized rocks and began to hurl them at the griffin one by one, lacing his throws with all the resentment pent up in his bones. He hit it on the side, close to a gash drawn by a Witcher’s blade, then on the backside where it nicked the lion fur. Anger rose up in him, anger at the griffin for making him feel so weak and futile, anger at Geralt for probably still getting injured despite the masterful distraction he had provided, and anger at himself for getting into these situations where he could not help Geralt as much as he wanted, could not help his friend except for shouting out the stupid rhymes he came up with on the spot in an attempt to open up the smallest window of opportunity for him.

He could hear Geralt groan as the griffin seemed to get back up on its legs. Jaskier saw the way its talons glinted in the sunlight as they dug into the ground, ready to push it back into the sky. Geralt’s sword was in the dust and the Witcher still trying to gain leverage over the beast. Even Jaskier with his deficient knowledge of fighting and the bestiary could tell Geralt needed to boost his capabilities, if he wanted to avoid it regaining its advantage. Jaskier wanted to do something, anything, desperately raking through his brain for an idea that went further than what Geralt usually called annoying and useless. There was not much he came up with beyond trying to draw the griffin’s attention back to himself.

‘Geralt, fuck, you can’t do something like that right now,’ he tried to convince his legs to carry himself closer to where he hoped Geralt would emerge victorious, busying his mind with words as he reached for the dagger he kept in his boot.

_‘You need inspiration,_

_to grant you some luck;_

_So here's my advice:_

_Don't fuck it up.’_

His screamed rhymes mingled with a last roar from Geralt. Then, the griffin’s body dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. Jaskier gasped in something that would have been fear, if it had not been clearly dead and immobile already. It took him a moment to sort through the images and impressions that threatened to overwhelm him, almost as if he had come down from an adrenaline high.

Eventually, he managed to break his frozen stupor and rushed towards the heaping corpse of the griffin. Warm blood spilled onto the ground and soaked the soil beneath it.

‘Geralt? Geralt, did you take a hit, are you alright?’

He rounded the griffin, careful of the still unfurled talons on the ground, made his way towards the belly and crouched to the ground next to the rather small scratch his dagger had left. Geralt was not to be seen so Jaskier tried to study the fatal wound delivered with the silver sword, judging by the etched rims of the slash. The innards had begun to spill out already, stinking and glistening with blood in the sunlight.

‘Geralt, I really want to check you for injuries, I know you took a hit there, at least one. There is no use in hiding, I’ll strip you anyway to get your wounds treated.’

‘No use in hiding, indeed,’ something heavy settled on his shoulder, kissing the kin of his neck, ‘I am reluctant to let you off as easy as last time so choose your next words wisely. What are you?’

Jaskier stilled on his knees, hands planted on the ground. The sluggish trickle of griffin blood crept through the dust of the road towards his fingers, encompassing them with vicious certainty. He felt its warmth on his skin, seeping through his fanned fingers, licking at his wrists as it pooled around his hands. The breath he drew left his lungs with a stutter, fighting to stay controlled.

He had spent enough time around Geralt to recognise the weight and feel of the silver blade but it had never been drawn against him before, only to rest against his throat twice in a matter of days. Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut, willed it to go away, be lifted off his shoulder, wished Geralt would make sense in his accusations and threats.

‘What do you mean,’ he asked, voice low and as calm as he could manage whilst feeling his heart beat in his throat, faster than a rabbit’s as the sword was pressed into his skin.

Geralt drew in a slow, deepbreath and Jaskier knew he scented him, tried to find out anything about the condition he so evidently found threatening, ‘It’s back, you reek of magic and I –‘

He interrupted himself and the blade was pressed against his neck a little harder, tilted to turn the edge into his throat, ready to strike, ‘I am immune to magic so how did you manage to manipulate chaos to put a spell on me? How did you manage to usurp my mind and control my sword arm?’


	3. Chapter 3

‘Geralt, I have really no idea what you are talking about.’

Jaskier watched as the trickle of griffin blood reached the hems of his shirt, soaking into the cloth and staining it red. It had been one of the newer ones that he had packed, not thinking about all the possibilities of them getting ruined beforehand. He regretted not remembering the masses of gore and gunk they usually would encounter sooner or later. The embroidery and lace cuffs on the shirt were beyond saving.

Whilst the blood soaked through his shirt and Jaskier still tried to retrace all steps taken to get him into the position he had found himself in, the sword was not removed from his throat, even as the gravel crunched under Geralt’s boots. His friend stepped around him, stalking, his amber gaze not moving from him. Jaskier lifted his head a little to meet his eyes.

‘Geralt,’ he winced at the tentativeness in his voice as the sword only dug deeper into his skin, ‘Geralt, please, please – what’s the matter?’

‘You did something, before I killed it,’ Geralt huffed, ‘it was clearly magic and it affected me.’

‘What, something hurt you?’ His eyes flitted to the wound across Geralt’s arm where the sleeve was ripped open and blood oozed out slowly.

‘No, Jaskier, listen,’ Geralt took another step towards him, the sword still in a tight hold, ‘you did something and it took control over me, for just the blink of an eye. It made me faster, stronger in that moment. That griffin didn’t stand a chance.’

‘But that’s good, isn’t it? You killed it, you finished the contract.’

‘Good? How can magic that can affect me and change something about my abilities be good?’ Geralt still wore a contorted mask of confusion and fury but Jaskier saw insecurity rise into his eyes.

‘I am getting up now, Geralt, if you don’t mind, my shirt is ruined already, anyway so there’s no point to me sitting in the dirt here, anymore,’ he pushed himself up resolutely and looked at his bloodstained hands, ‘this is just sad.’

‘You are more concerned with the state of your shirt than whatever evil magic took a hold of me?’

‘Oh Geralt, come on,’ Jaskier rolled his eyes and inspected his bloodied wrists, ‘you said it was helping you beat it, are you going to complain about that? This doublet was relatively new.’

He washed his hands with the water skin hanging from Geralt’s saddle, rubbing at his fingers until the first thick layer of blood was at the ground, mixed with the water he had caught in his hollowed hands. Geralt remained standing behind him, but he had not yet heard the sword get sheathed again. Jaskier did not bother to talk about it all anymore, he had not felt anything different happen, least of all, magic surging through his veins. If Geralt insisted he had felt it, he would not argue against it since he had no means to detect it but he would not stand for slander as his friend accused him of casting spells.

He scratched Roach’s ears under Geralt’s careful watch before turning away and towards the merchant cart. The horses still in their harnesses were nothing more than bloodied sacks of flesh, corpses torn open and abused.

‘Hello?’ Jaskier tried to remember where he had heard the merchant shout from earlier and pressed through, ‘Geralt, come help me, the poor man might be bleeding out as we speak. Don’t just stand there!’

He stepped over the broken remains of a horse’s legs, ‘Oh, and Geralt – don’t bring Roach down here, it’s not a pretty sight.’

There was a whimper from the side, in the tall grass. Jaskier looked back over his shoulder and spotted Geralt crouching by the horse corpses, forehead pulled into wrinkles. He had left Roach a few yards back, away from the griffin. She grazed, seemingly unfazed by the gore and sight in front of her.

‘Hello?’ Jaskier asked again, carefully making his way past the splintered skeleton of the cart, ‘if you’re still alive, could you let me know, please?’

‘Over here,’ a faint voice from the side caught his attention.

The merchant, a man in the prime of his life, lay where the griffin had dropped him from the sky upon hearing Jaskier approach. His arm stuck out in a rather unhealthy angle, as far as Jaskier could tell, he had a few cuts on his cheeks and his clothes were in a pitiful state.

‘Is it dead?’

Jaskier knelt down next to him, careful not to touch the injured arm, ‘It is. Tell me, good man, what is your name?’

‘Andras,’ the man replied, voice strained with pain, ‘did you kill it?’

His hands came up to grab for Jaskier’s sleeves, staring at the amount of blood that had sullied them. Jaskier laughed and tried to see whether the man was still bleeding before turning back over his shoulder.

‘Geralt! He’s alive but I think his arm is broken.’

‘Hm,’ Geralt appeared by his side and took one look at the man, ‘you’re right. I’ll have to set it.’

‘Oh please,’ Andras the merchant stared up at Jaskier, eyes widening in horror and pain, ‘please, no.’

‘It’s either now and we get you back to Dorian without much more pain or have it reset once we get there and you’ll be in pain all the way,’ Geralt grabbed Andras by the uninjured arm and helped him sit up, ‘this will hurt for a moment.’

Jaskier saw the panic rise in Andras’ eyes and decided to sing a quick tune to drown out whatever sensations might get in the way of Geralt’s work. He took the merchant’s uninjured hand in his and gave him a smile.

‘Squeeze, if it hurts,’ he told him before Geralt could act, ‘ _You faced a griffin/ and survived/ your luck would stiffen/ when the White Wolf arrived/ Your arm got broken/ but the last word was spoken/ when his mighty sword/ turned into a ward_.’

He waited for Andras to scream out in pain, for the grip around his fingers to tighten – but nothing happened. Andras sat still in between them as Geralt worked.

‘So, you’re a bard?’

‘Uhm,’ Jaskier blinked at him, ‘yes, I am. How’s your arm?’

‘No pain at all,’ Andras turned to Geralt, ‘thank you.’

Geralt let go of his arm as if he had burned himself. He got up, dusted his trousers off and turned on the heel, a snarl halfway out of his mouth.

‘Jaskier!’

‘Sorry, got to see what he wants,’ Jaskier squeezed Andras’ shoulder, ‘we are going to take you back to Dorian. Don’t run off.’

Geralt paced around in the high grass, hand woven into his hair. The crease between his eyebrows was prominent and deep, casting a shadow over his face.

‘Oh, don’t tell me,’ Jaskier huffed out, ‘I sang and magic happened.’

‘His arm. It set itself under my hands, I could feel it,’ Geralt stopped with his back to Andras, ‘Jaskier, something is happening and I don’t know what and why.’

Jaskier studied his face, carefully trawling through the signs and indicators Geralt allowed him to see in his expression. His eyes were still restless, gaze flitting from his face to the side and back, as if he could not understand what he saw. He avoided looking into his eyes, his lips twitched and the muscles in his jaw worked, tensing and loosening constantly.

He knew the signs. Years of travelling with Geralt, seeing him face unexpected contracts and react to things he did not comprehend, had given him an inkling of what to look for to get information beyond the curt answers and grunts he omitted when words eluded him. Jaskier studied Geralt’s habits and mannerisms with the same dedication and sincerity he worked on his poetry and song writing with. He was a scholar, after all and he had perfected his interpretation of Geralt over time.

‘Geralt,’ he held out a hand as if to halt him, ‘you are worried.’

Geralt did not move a muscle but Jaskier had seen enough already. He felt a first, cautious grin rise onto his lips but managed to contain it in the light of the way Geralt’s arms twitched, crossed over his chest.

‘You are! Gods be with me, Geralt of Rivia is worried about me,’ Jaskier rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, hiding the griffin blood, ‘oh you big, soft heart. You should take your proof of that griffin, I’ll check on Andras. We should take him back into town, and then I’ll sing for our supper –‘

‘No singing,’ Geralt interrupted him, grabbing his wrist before he could turn around, ‘no more singing until we figure out what is happening with you. We can’t risk anything going wrong.’

He wanted to protest, confront Geralt with the illogicality of his words, demand an explanation, an apology, anything. Then, he caught the way Geralt’s eyes rested on him, haunted and anxious, as much as a man like him showed these conditions.

Jaskier noticed the way amber eyes flitted over his throat. He remembered his throat closing up once before, words come out in choked off gasps, pain shooting down his windpipe. He remembered the fear as Geralt rode on as blood soaked his doublet, running from his mouth. The memories were still vivid in his mind, there to remind him what had happened when he tested destiny.

He nodded, ‘No singing tonight. But you better figure out what it is that so lately confuses you about my entertainment, otherwise, this will turn into torture. I shall fetch Andras now.’

With a squeeze of Geralt’s hand, he turned around.

Andras still seemed unaware of whom he had met, instead talking about his losses and what they meant for Dorian. Eventually, Jaskier found out that he had decided to make the trip by himself after another convoy had been attacked a week earlier. Geralt grunted something rude about the stupidity to face a griffin by himself, how lucky he had been the beast did not have a mate and something Jaskier could not understand.

They walked back towards the town, Roach carrying what Geralt had deemed worth taking of the griffin’s body. Andras had watched in horror as Geralt sawed off the head, plucked out feathers and dug for brain, heart and eyes but Jaskier had made it his goal to distract him from the Witcher doing his job in front of them. He told him stories of bygone adventures, things he had seen Geralt do – exaggerated to taste, of course. By the time they got back to Dorian, Andras seemed to have forgotten about the gore, only occasionally throwing Geralt wary glances as they entered the town.

‘Will you be fine?’ Jaskier offered him his hand, ‘I hope trade goes well from now on.’

‘Thank you, master bard,’ Andras smiled at him, ‘thank you again.’

Jaskier knew the smile Andras gave him. He had seen it on women and men alike, the look of someone open to a night spent with him. They varied in lust and craving, some only asked him to sing to them, others wanted to be granted an insight in one of the other liberal arts. Most of the time, the emphasis was placed on ‘liberal.’

Andras slipped him a piece of paper before he walked away, only turning back once to wave at him a last time. Jaskier had felt his fingers in his pocket, lingering for a moment.

Geralt’s watchful eyes followed Andras’ figure down the road before he began to unload the griffin parts from Roach’s back, ‘You will be out tonight, then?’

Jaskier plucked a chord on his lute, ‘Why would I be?’

‘He propositioned you. I take it, that was his address,’ Geralt shouldered the griffin’s head, taking the load off Roach’s back.

‘And?’ Jaskier shrugged, ‘There’s not going to be any singing tonight so why would I be out?’

All he got in response was a grunt as Geralt marched off towards the alderman’s house to claim and collect his payment. He would continue to try and find a spot to sell the griffin parts. Jaskier took Roach’s reins to get her set up properly in the inn’s stables, talking to her as he led her away.

‘Why does he expect me to go? Should I go, Roach, please tell me. I don’t feel like singing anymore, anyway, not when Geralt is worried about what is happening with me. Did you feel magic? I don’t even know what it’s supposed to feel like. But if he worries, I better sit in the room and wait for what he tells me to do, wouldn’t you agree?’

Roach nibbled on his collar, huffing warm breath down his back.

‘I know,’ Jaskier sighed, ‘he really doesn’t know how much it means to me, huh? For him to come visit me, take me away like that truly was a joy. It still is, despite this new-found tendency for his sword to rest upon my fragile shoulder.’

He scrubbed Roach down and patted her before slipping her an apple, ‘See you tomorrow, I guess.’

Dorian’s alderman seemed to have stood by his word. Geralt was already back at their room, sprawled out on the bed closer to the door. He had taken off his armour and boots, there was a set of plates with food and two tankards of ale on the table and a bath in the corner.

‘How is Roach?’

‘She’s fed and has a lovely box with a view,’ Jaskier sat down on his bed and placed the lute on the blanket, ‘did you wash already?’

‘No,’ Geralt motioned towards the tub, ‘it’s for you. I thought you would like to freshen up before.’

‘Before what?’ Jaskier took off his shoes, ‘Geralt, you are being weird.’

The huff from the other bed was the only reaction he got but he had his head stuck inside his shirt as he tried to wrestle it over his head. Griffin blood had dried into the cloth and on his skin to the point where it stuck to the hairs on his arms and did not budge. He tried to get the collar past his ears but struggled with the tight fit of the sleeves.

‘Why is this – I am going to have to soak the wrists,’ Jaskier pulled on the hem that he had managed to get halfway up his back but it refused to budge, ‘oh no.’

He could hear some rustling from where Geralt had lain on the bed. Wood grated on wood and feet were set on the ground.

‘Uhm, Geralt?’

A hand came to rest on his back, warm and strong against his skin. Jaskier felt himself be pushed forward, a second hand coming to stabilise him around his arm. He felt his stomach lurch, as if it was trying to get closer to Geralt who led him through the room, towards the tub. For a moment, with his shirt over his head and nothing he could see except the fabric of the embroidered cloth, he felt like passing out. He had not eaten since before they set out to rid the town of the griffin which he remembered as Geralt pressed his fingers into his back a little more demanding, making him move by instinct to avoid the empty feeling in his stomach.

With Geralt’s hand on the small of his back, still warm against his skin, and another on his arm, they made it to the tub. Jaskier stubbed his toe on the heavy wood and hissed in pain, only to hear Geralt chuckle.

‘Are you seriously laughing at my suffering?’

‘Suffering,’ Geralt huffed, ‘I can see you suffer greatly.’

‘May I remind you,’ Jaskier tried to take a stance, ‘that I am merely in this situation because someone made me kneel in griffin blood for prolonged time? And that someone better stop doing things like that because –‘

‘Because what?’

He could tell that his outbreak had amused Geralt. The hand disappeared from his arm for a moment but then, Jaskier felt his hands being tugged to the front. Bending forward, he let Geralt direct his hands into the warm bathwater to soak his wrists and the sleeves of his shirt to get them off his skin easier.

‘How long do you think I should stay here?’

The water splashed against the shirt over his head, ‘Geralt! Don’t do that you big, insensitive –‘

‘What, you’re all bark,’ Geralt rumbled in what Jaskier knew was as much of a laughter as he would get out of him, ‘get ready to take a deep breath.’

‘What – no, Geralt, don’t –‘ Jaskier tried to grab at Geralt’s arms, the hand on his back and pull it away before he could get into mischief, ‘no –‘

Water sloshed over his head and into his ears. He could still hear Geralt. The sound that penetrated his ears sounded a lot like actual, real laughter, full and low, a pleasant and saturating sound that filled him from the inside with warmth and the urge to get his head out of the tub and above the surface to hear it for himself.

He was dragged back out of the water. The last ripples of Geralt’s voice still echoed in his ears, dwindling quickly and fading away into a mild chuckle. Jaskier gasped, drawing in a deep breath and shaking his head to get the water out of his ears and his hair out of his eyes.

‘You!’ He wheeled around and jabbed his finger between Geralt’s ribs, ‘That was uncalled for, Geralt.’

‘Why, you were going to take a bath anyway and your shirt should not be a problem anymore,’ a last huff of breath had the hairs on his neck stand on end, ‘go on, have your bath and something to eat. You haven’t eaten all day.’

‘You noticed?’ Jaskier tried to take off his shirt again, this time, pulling it over his head successfully, ‘I’m okay, thank you.’

‘Hm, I’m positive you are,’ Geralt sat back down on his bed, stretching out on the mattress and pillowing his head on his arms, ‘you’re also shaking.’

Jaskier froze, one foot in the bathtub, the other in the air, ‘What?’

Geralt watched him as he stepped into the tub and sat down. His eyes did not give away anything he thought or felt, nothing to go from, as far as his reasons were concerned. Jaskier felt the warm water engulf him and wash over his arms, wash off the last flecks of blood.

‘Your fingers,’ Geralt growled, ‘you’re shaking. Haven’t stopped since we sent Andras off. You’re not afraid, or you don’t know it, at least. You don’t smell like it. Something is going on and I don’t like it.’

‘What do you propose we do?’ Jaskier let his head rest against the edge of the tub, letting the water swash over his chest.

The warmth seeped into his bones and filled him with a similar feeling as Geralt’s laugh. He grabbed his bag from the stool next to the tub and got his scented salts out.

‘Larkspur sounds good,’ he sighed and tipped some of the contents of a blue jar into the water, ‘you didn’t tell me what you think we should do.’

Geralt still stared at the ceiling, ‘You did somehow enable me to move faster and healed a man’s arm, mine too, by the way. If it was something evil or malicious, I would have been able to tell. You haven’t been cursed, it doesn’t feel like it. As long as you can assure me you’re not a magical creature –‘

‘I’m not,’ Jaskier sighed and resisted the urge to grab Geralt’s arm to check the scratch the griffin had left on his skin, ‘but imagine me, a majestic, mighty –‘

‘Jaskier, focus,’ Geralt’s voice was back to sounding like water poured over gravel, ‘as long as you are not a creature, I think the best call would be to seek out a mage.’

‘Oh,’ Jaskier sat up, pulling his knees in.

‘We are going to see a sorceress.’

‘Oh,’ he felt something deflate in his chest, ‘of course.’

‘To find out what happened to you.’

Jaskier nodded. He sank back into the water and began to wash. Whenever Yennefer got referred to in a conversation, something inside him disappeared, leaving nothing but an empty space where usually, he would tease and laugh.

He was unable to name what exactly was wrong with him. The thought of Geralt bringing up his connection to Yennefer left a sour taste in his mouth and despite knowing he had no agency and no business even thinking about Geralt’s decisions, he felt a pang of something that he did not want to deal with.

Geralt threw the towel at him after a few more minutes and Jaskier wrapped himself in it, still deep in thoughts. He put on a fresh shirt and sat down at the table in front of the window, pulling the plate of bread closer to himself.

‘You’re thinking too much,’ Geralt sat up on his bed, ‘tomorrow, we’ll set off for Temeria.’

‘Didn’t King Foltest ban you from entering the country or something?’

Geralt did not even give him a grunt in response. Instead, he pushed himself up onto his feet, crossed the room and took a piece of bread off the plate.

‘Temeria is where we can find out what happened to you.’

Jaskier found himself unable to protest as he watched the heel end of the bread disappear between too-sharp teeth. He finished his dinner and went to bed, curling up around the blanket. Wrapped in the darkness of the room, he listened to Geralt move around almost soundlessly but still audible to someone used to his bedtime routine.

He fell asleep listening to him move around, trying to forget the feeling of a blade against his neck.


	4. Chapter 4

Temeria was just as he remembered it; wealthy, pompous and tremendously xenophobic. He was fine, of course, walking the streets as a travelling bard, but Geralt got his fair share of dark stares and barely hidden curses directed at him. Jaskier flinched with every single one he caught. Knowing Geralt had brought him enough insight into the Witcher’s understanding of the world and himself to know Geralt thought the insults and stones hurled at him to be his just treatment.

Jaskier had spent too long trying to better the reception of all Witchers around the continent to idly stand by as peasants with little honour threw violent words at who he considered his friend, no matter what Geralt said whenever the word slipped. He had heard his laugh, of sorts, and in his books that meant being trusted enough to call himself friend.

When they entered Vizima, Geralt seemed to turn his head away from the people coming towards them from the other direction and pulled his hood over his face. Jaskier watched as a few people took a second look, trying to see past the curtain of white hair that shielded him, only to turn around and whisper amongst themselves once they passed them. It still took until they reached one of the bigger roads for the people to catch on.

The first pointer was a soft, mushy tomato, thrown out of the shadows of a vegetable stall on the market, impacting on Geralt’s back with a wet splat. It slipped off the leather covering his broad shoulders and dropped to the ground without rousing a reaction from him. Jaskier turned around but no one stood in the street. The only people he could spot were pressed into the shadows of the alleys.

‘Cowards,’ he huffed and pulled his lute case closer on instinct.

The next incident started with a man passing them. He took a look at Geralt and sneered behind their backs, face darkening.

‘Bloody abortion of the hells, go back to the pit you came from.’

Jaskier drew in a breath and already formed an insult in his mind to hurl at the man when Geralt shook his head at him. It was a small enough movement to be overlooked by anyone else but Jaskier had spent weeks learning about the giveaways and habits that kept him from impulsive decisions.

‘Leave him be,’ Geralt said but his voice was heavy with the sorrow that usually only rested in the deep creases around his eyes, ‘he doesn’t know any better.’

‘When did you last come to Temeria and take on a contract?’

‘A year ago, give or take,’ Geralt replied, ‘a selkiemore.’

A woman ushered her children past them, hissing at them not to look the Witcher in the eye. Prejudice based on children’s stories. Jaskier rolled his eyes and began to hum under his breath instead of giving in to the anxiety he felt lapping at his awareness. As long as Geralt seemed unfazed by what happened, he was happy to play along and ignore the way a darker part of himself wanted to claw and bite, throw himself in front of Geralt and hurl insults back at the people disrespecting him without knowing the first thing about him, the way he worked and what he did for humanity.

Another man passed them, a heavy-set, stout brute with the tell-tale red nose of a man used to inhabiting the bottom of a tankard. He cast a look at them as they walked past and staggered, eyes widening with recognition.

‘Oi!’

‘Keep walking,’ Geralt’s hand came to rest on his arm, dragging him along without digging his fingers into his bicep, ‘no time for this.’

‘Oi, Witcher! I’m talking to you,’ the man stepped into their way, ‘I think I know you. Weren’t you that brute what took on the worm in Maribor? You smashed through that smithy and ruined a good day’s work. Fucking mutants, no respect for us hardworking people! What were you after, anyway? Our coin? What, they didn’t put you down when you first presented a village idiot? We are good people here in Temeria, we have no need for freaks like you.’

‘Stop talking, good sir, lest you want to walk away with your pride unimpaired,’ Jaskier jumped to Geralt’s side, ‘this fine specimen here has slain many a beast in defence of humanity’s interest and we are all indebted to his great –‘

‘Shut up, bard,’ the man belched in his face and shoved him aside, ‘what, you have a barker, Witcher? Where did you pick up this rabid little puppy, huh? Looks like he needs either a good feeding, a kick up his arse or a good, hard fucking to shut him up.’

Jaskier was a patient man. People had flung rotten vegetables at him when he first started performing, they had cursed and insulted him many times, and he had gathered whatever food was salvageable and moved on, away from them, writing smear poems and songs about them once he had left their hospitable walls behind. He had endured abuse from queens and sorceresses alike, jousted with lesser bards and knights who thought they knew the world without ever leaving their estate. He even let Geralt take his moods out on him every so often, parrying with quips and quick-witted retorts himself. There had been a few idiots, too drunk or stupid to come up with a reply who had tried to shove him aside to get to Geralt, to get to his Witcher, the man who stoically endured any insult flung at him like mud or faecal matter or stones. They were the people Jaskier drew his dagger against.

‘What, Witcher, swallowed your tongue? The whole continent knows that bard of yours is a better plaything, a way to keep you pliant and on a leash. How often do you fuck him to remotely resemble a man and get a grip, huh? Or does he do the fucking?’

The man had reached Geralt and, despite hardly reaching his shoulders, stretched himself to get closer to his face, ‘Big, scary lump of stone, feeding on children, if that’s what you believe, that’s what you are, and nothing more. They should show you monsters where your place is, once and for all.’

Jaskier had seen enough people try and get to Geralt, he had seen and heard their insults and the way they tried to hurt him, only to excuse their behaviour with the lack of feelings so often attributed to Witchers. He was not entirely sure how much of that had been Witchers of old trying to pass as something detached and less human-like but he knew Geralt and he knew the way his jaw tensed when he got insulted with the false accusations common in vulgar superstition and old-wives’-tales. He certainly knew how sad and empty Geralt’s eyes got when someone mustered up the courage to spit at him.

He had seen it too often to ignore it. Not only that it was a reminder of all the ways the world was cruel and unjust, it also reminded him of how little he could do for Geralt in such situations, should they occur. Well, except for drawing attention away from him.

‘So tell me,’ he began, voice cheerful and dripping with false kindness as he pushed in front of Geralt’s hunched over figure, ‘did you run away from your parents or did they run from you?’

‘What?’

The man turned and blinked at him out of piggy eyes. Jaskier squared his shoulders and took a stance opposite from him.

‘One day I'm going to make a ballad of this incident. Tell me your name, I hope it rhymes with _horribly slaughtered_ ,’ he took a step forward, unyielding in the way he met the man’s eyes. He could hear the cold venom in his own words but there was nothing to stop him, not since Geralt had averted his gaze again, ‘You know, at this point I’d really like to draw my dagger but I wouldn’t want to make you jealous.’

The man took a swing at him, angered enough to feel the need to retaliate. Jaskier dodged his blow and laughed into his face.

‘I'm trying to insult you as much as your existence insults me,’ he spat, taking another step forward.

He did notice the blood that had begun to trickle from his opponent’s eyes and ears. Something had inflicted a cut to his face, too but Jaskier could not spot a weapon being brandished anywhere near them. The man seemed to notice the warmth of blood on his cheek and touched it with his fingers, staring at the red fingertips coming away, then back at him, eyes widening a little, before turning on his heel and legging it, dashing across the square at a surprising speed. Jaskier could still taste of copper was on his tongue, thick and warm, even after the man had disappeared behind a corner.

Jaskier turned back around to Geralt, ‘He’s gone. We should get going, do you know where she is, your sorceress?’

It was then that he noticed the way Geralt’s hand had closed around his medallion, knuckles turning white, ‘Oh no, please don’t tell me it happened again. Are you going to point the sword at me again? Please don’t, we’re in the middle of a city.’

Geralt only shook his head and walked past him, making his way briskly down a road, Roach on his heels. Jaskier took a moment to breathe and clear his head. He felt dizzy, his head heavy with something he did not recognise. His voice had sounded different, he had not noticed it whilst he was still hurling insults at the man but he had realised it afterwards. It had been his voice that made the other man bleed, vicious abuse causing the cuts and slashes on his face until it drew blood.

There was no denying of what happened to him. Something had changed and it made him into a beast. Following Geralt seemed harder, all of a sudden. Knowing what he had done, hoping the sorceress could help him seemed futile. If she could not, if she knew not what to do, he would have to do the only thing reasonable in his situation to keep himself from hurting others.

He would ask Geralt to end it before it could take over again.

Steadfast in his made decision, he continued after Geralt, towards one of the nicer houses in this busy part of Vizima. Roach seemed to have been provided for already when he reached it and stepped into the courtyard that lay behind a sturdy, wooden gate. A page told a stable hand to look after her before asking Geralt and him to follow inside.

Jaskier swallowed hard. Of course, Yennefer would have a page, her own stables and the best house in the whole city. He had come to know that she enjoyed the nice things, the luxury she so easily got with her talents without suffering the process of working for it. There was a stark juxtaposition between the way Yennefer took what she wanted and Geralt tried to punish himself through everything he did and enduring any pain he happened upon.

Geralt did not look at him as they followed the boy into the bowels of the house. A constricting sensation clawed at his throat, phantoms of another time spent at Yennefer’s mercy. He felt reminded of the pain, horror and fear he had felt thinking he might lose his voice, on top of dying. There was not much of a memory left for him to remember, only what had played out afterwards, the threats and abuse the only things he could recall once he was safe again. Her piercing eyes seemed to follow him long after they had left Rinde, as if it had not been enough to have seen Geralt make a choice.

He was not jealous; for any justification of that, he felt, he should have had some part in Geralt’s life to begin with. No, jealousy could not suffice to describe the gnawing pain inside him that always seemed to know where to hit him to make sure he kept his head down. Especially, when it came to Yennerfer of Vengerberg and her wicked ways with Geralt.

‘Mylady,’ the page announced them, bowing low, ‘the Witcher and his bard.’

Jaskier wanted to scoff at the words. Geralt had, over months, made it very clear that they were not a unit and whether that was just him trying to keep himself from forming an actual bond or not, Jaskier respected his asperity in this regard. Respect did not keep him from calling them friends. After all, he had found out about Geralt’s inability to understand why he would follow him into increasingly ridiculous situations shortly after first meeting him. It still amused him when others concluded they were anything but the travel companions Geralt would probably allow to describe them.

‘Geralt,’ the sorceress turned around from the window she had been looking out of, ‘how good to see you again!’

‘Triss,’ Geralt hummed and Jaskier would have sworn his voice took on an affective tone, only Geralt did not have that at his disposal, ‘I was not sure whether you would be here.’

‘This is my home now,’ the woman stepped up to Geralt, a soft smile on her lips that definitely proved she was not Yennefer, ‘the king is generous with those that serve him. It’s certainly more than the chambers I lived in when we met.’

‘And outside the castle walls, as well. Foltest is lucky to even keep you in town, what, with your preference for the woods and silent stretches of soft hills,’ another voice drifted into the room from a staircase at the back where a door led away to more private rooms beyond the reception hall they were in, ‘no one could tell you to abandon the creatures of woods and meadows.’

Immediately, all hairs on his body stood on end. He recognised the sultry tone of her voice before he saw her step into the room. Yennefer joined the other woman in front of Geralt, one hand gently resting on her arm. Jaskier watched, eyes set on Geralt and the way his schooled expression still gave him away.

It was obvious to him that the Witcher knew the other sorceress who now smiled back at Yennefer and he raked through his brain to find a name, a description, anything Geralt might have mentioned that would spare him from having to ask. Geralt’s lips had twitched softly before settling into their scowl. There were no hard feelings left between them but he had still taken a careful shift from the moment the first echo of Yennefer’s voice had found them.

‘Nothing wrong with woods and meadows,’ he grunted, ‘Yennefer.’

‘Geralt. I see you brought the songbird. What a pleasant but not entirely unexpected surprise,’ she slipped her other hand onto Geralt’s arm.

The creature coiled up in his stomach roared up and clawed at his heart, digging its claws into it and tearing as Yennefer smirked at him over her shoulder. He tried his best to hide it, to keep his face as closed off as Geralt’s. Evidently, he failed since her smirk only widened.

‘You are in the house of Triss Merigold, advisor to King Foltest of Temeria. Geralt bringing you here will have a reason that I am curious to find out about. Are you planning on keeping him around whilst you’re here?’

‘Hm.’

Yennefer sighed and rolled her eyes at Triss, ‘You see what I was talking about?’

Triss looked from her to Geralt and back but gave them a warm, almost apologetic smile, ‘I’m sure we can sort something out. Welcome, Jaskier.’

He bowed quickly, just remembering his manners, ‘Thank you for accepting me into your house.’

‘You are an esteemed friend of Geralt’s,’ Triss smiled at him, ‘you must be dying for a warm bath to finally wash away the dust and dirt of the road. You are staying here, aren’t you, Geralt?’

Geralt looked back to Jaskier by his side, as if contemplating his options, ‘For a night.’

‘Now, now, that won’t do,’ Triss still smiled at him, directing her attention to him.

Her voice was firm and made it clear to them that nothing but her vote would be decisive in this matter. Jaskier was reminded of his mother, telling him off without ever leaving him to think she felt anything less than love for him. The sorceress turned back to Yennefer.

‘Baths and a meal, I’d say. Whatever Geralt and you have to discuss can wait until afterwards,’ she clapped and the page reappeared from a corner, ‘I won’t hear No for an answer, so there better be no protests. You look like you could do with a break, Geralt.’

Geralt really looked like he considered talking back at her. Jaskier wanted to berate him for it, get him to acknowledge that they had endured things they had been not been prepared to face when they had met up again. He felt the exhaustion that had settled deep in his bones. It always was there but it only really came through when he had an opportunity to rest.

‘Come on then,’ Geralt’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, pushing him forward by a few paces, ‘never witnessed you not pipe up at the opportunity of a bath before.’

Yennever cocked an eyebrow at them when they passed her, mouth pulling into a smug grin, ‘You are right, I’ve never seen your bard this quiet. What happened, did you finally decide to pacify him?’

Jaskier felt a quip build on his lips, felt it burn in his throat. He bit his lip, willing the words to subside, no matter how satisfactory it would have been to spit them out. The last thing he wanted was to anger a very powerful sorceress that had a past record of being the overall most terrifying and threatening person he knew. Her lilac eyes kept him in focus until they had left the hall and even then, he felt like they were still watching, burning into the back of his neck.

‘Geralt,’ he tried to get the Witcher to look at him, feeling another piece of him slip away when nothing happened except the hold on his shoulder tightening, ‘Geralt, what’s the matter, what is happening, why – what are you planning to do?’

‘Toss you into that bath and drown you,’ Geralt grunted, ‘you had to let Yennefer know something happened, didn’t you?’

‘I did no such thing, I merely held my tongue.’

‘Exactly,’ Geralt whipped around, ‘when do you ever do that? It’s suspicious.’

‘You complain about my talking all the time and now it’s me being quiet that irks you?’

‘If it means Yennefer will be insufferable, later,’ Geralt shot him a look, ‘if she’s even able to tell us what’s wrong with you, that is. I don’t know what else to do. This is a last straw.’

The page opened a door for them. Warm air billowed out of the room, along with scented steam that filled the hallway and their nostrils for a moment. Jaskier smelled herbal salts in the humid air that made him perk up a little, reminding him of a spring breeze by the coast.

He stepped into the room, following Geralt who had already begun to take off his boots, swords and armour. The door was closed behind them, as if there was any privacy to get between them. Jaskier stepped further into the room, parting the steam with his strides.

‘Geralt,’ he began again when he heard the water slosh around the other man as he stepped into the deep basin, followed by a low groan of pleasure that would have enticed a reaction out of him, if his cheeks had not been hot with embarrassment already, ‘Geralt, I need – I need to tell you something.’

‘What.’

‘Earlier, when – when Yennefer quipped about me being pacified,’ he carefully took off his shoes and placed them neatly next to each other underneath a heated stone bench at the back wall, ‘I felt something, as if words were trying to come out and I knew they would hurt, so I made myself stop, but what – what if every time I say something now, I hurt people?’

‘Jaskier –‘

‘What, if I hurt you?’ His voice was quiet, almost drowned out by the crackling fire and slow hum of something that was nowhere to be seen but made the air tickle pleasantly.

Water slopped out of the basin that had been recessed in the ground as Geralt moved towards the edge. He rested his forehead on his crossed arms, looked up at him – and smiled. It was a true smile, opening up his face and making his eyes glint.

‘You are a lark, Jaskier,’ he grinned, ‘a songbird. If you wanted to hurt me, you would have to think of more than an insult, believe me.’

‘You think it’s that easy?’ Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest, ‘You just laugh into the face of the possibility that I might hurt people or that my voice eventually strangles me, like back – back then. Eventually, I will choke on the blood I draw without knowing why and where it comes from. I will be doomed to drown in the despair I bring others.’

‘Jaskier, take off your boots,’ Geralt sat back into the warm waters of the basin, ‘and get into the fucking bath.’

‘I can’t, Geralt, don’t you understand that? What if I hurt more people; that guy out there definitely deserved it but – Geralt, what are you doing?’

‘I told you to take off your boots,’ Geralt grunted hoarsely and moved along the edge, stalking in the water like a drowner, waiting for an opportunity to strike, ‘are you going to come in voluntarily?’

‘You really want –‘

‘You talk too much.’

Jaskier huffed a short, ‘insufferable brute’ before bending down to take off his boots and unlace his doublet. He swore under his breath, uttering his insults and curses as he took off his shirt and trousers next. Once the warm water lapped at his legs, however, he felt the tense feelings wash off him.

He slipped into the water and sat down with his back to the side of the pool. Geralt moved back as well, satisfied enough with his success to sink into the water until only his head peeked out.

They moved in coordinated rhythm. Jaskier helped Geralt wash his hair and got dunked for his efforts, spluttering in his attempt to wipe his wet hair out of his eyes and got a face full of Witcher. He tried to push him away, only to have Geralt laugh again at his effort when his hands slipped off his wet chest. It was in good humour and Jaskier found himself wishing for the moment to last, a moment in which it seemed possible to satisfy the growling beast in his chest that demanded more and more of his attention, the longer he saw Geralt laugh and smile at him.


	5. Chapter 5

‘We should probably get out soon. Yennefer is waiting,’ Geralt tied his hair behind his head to get it out of his face, wet and dripping as it was.

The beast reared up again in Jaskier’s chest and clawed at his throat. He could not manage a single word whilst they got dressed again, at least changing into fresh clothes after the long day on the road. The feeling of clean cloth against his warm, refreshed skin was nice enough to make him relish in it for a moment, leaning against the warm stone bench, watching as Geralt sorted through the armour he had discarded.

Before they left the room, Geralt grabbed his arm and forced him to stop and look him in the eye, ‘One thing. Don’t forget. The first thing you did with these powers of yours was help me out. The second time, you healed somebody. These powers are not likely to be inherently evil just because you cut someone with your words. We will find out, of course, and we will find a way to deal with it.’

Jaskier nodded, his throat too closed up to reply. Geralt stared at him for another moment before grunting and turning around. He followed the Witcher back down the corridor, through the reception hall and into the private rooms he had suspected behind the door at the top of the stairs.

‘Should we –‘ Jaskier did not finish the sentence after seeing Geralt push open the door already, ‘just walking in then, are we?’

‘There you are,’ a hand closed around his arm and pulled him off to the side.

‘What is it with people pulling me in every direction today?’

Yennefer clicked his tongue at him and rolled her eyes, ‘Oh, woe is me. Now stop complaining.’

She steered him into the middle of the room. Jaskier stopped when her hand came to rest on his shoulder. The room was bathed in light, flooding in over the balcony and tall windows along the wall. There were several bookshelves, all heavy and bent under the burden of the tomes they held. Distributed on a spindly desk and on every other surface in the room stood vials and glass containers with plants and concoctions that looked every shade of green and anything between liquid and gooey. Triss sat sideways on the balcony railing, a book in her lap, hair open over her shoulders. Her golden skin shone in the sunlight and her gently, still slightly apologetic smile was directed at him as Yennefer began to study him, eyes raking over him without blinking once.

‘Since you did not say a single word since entering, Geralt is as unhelpful as always,’ Yennefer finally took her eyes of him to shoot Geralt a look with a sigh, ‘and you just about reek of magic, I am going to assume you want to find out what happened to him since your humble bard is no longer a dull courtier, anymore. He still has no taste in clothes but that’s not something magic could possible change.’

Jaskier huffed out an indignant breath. The fear and anxiety of whatever had happened to him subsided and the creature in his chest used the opportunity to snarl and spit venom.

‘Rich, coming from the sorceress who over the last decades did not change a single thing for the better, no matter how much magic she uses.’

‘Well, he’s not dying,’ Yennefer concluded her examination and turned around, ‘Geralt, would you please tell me what happened to spare me from his incoherent ramblings?’

Before Jaskier could flutter and tell her off for her jab at his delightful conversation skills, Geralt stepped between them and put his hand on his shoulder. His eyes flitted around the room before settling on Yennefer with that look he knew too well. For a moment, his expression grew soft but before Jaskier had a chance to realise it, his face was back to the surly look he usually sported.

‘It started recently, after we began travelling together again from Oxenfurt. He smelled of magic then but we put it down to a man he had accommodated in his rooms the night before.’

‘You put it so nicely,’ Yennefer gave them a toothy grin, ‘well, it is not a curse so his bedfellow must have enjoyed his services a little bit, at least.’

‘The magic,’ Geralt continued as if nothing had interrupted him, ‘first came to light when I fought a griffin in Dorian. He sang and rhymed, not shutting up for a second, and whilst he did that, something took hold of me and made me move swifter and with a truer aim to strike it down. After I defeated the beast, Jaskier helped me treat a man who had been attacked by it. In the process, the man’s broken arm began to heal unnaturally fast under my hands. It was almost healed completely when I had just about set it. The only thing that could have explained these things happening was the song Jaskier sang to distract him from the pain. There was no magic in that man as it all happened but afterwards, Jaskier thrummed with it.’

‘Not evil, then,’ Triss interjected, slid off the railing and joined them in the middle of the room, ‘a favour, maybe?’

‘He made a man bleed from his eyes with insults. Today, just outside, in the market place,’ Geralt snarled, ‘what do you call that?’

‘Defence?’ Triss stepped even closer, inspecting Jaskier and letting her fingers hover over his arms.

Jaskier could feel something spark in his bloodstream; it struggled against the magic Triss seemed to hold, fingers shaking with the strain of the spell. It recoiled, tried to hide, he could feel it burrowing deeper into his conscience. It began to growl, joining the creature growling in his chest. It did not agree with being dragged forward and inspected with magic, he could tell by the way it pulled on him to get him away from Triss.

Something flashed inside him. Jaskier stumbled a few steps back, tripped over his feet and landed on something solid. Geralt’s arms had closed around him, catching him before he could hit the floor. He came face to face with the Witcher whose eyes seemed to stare into his soul with the intensity of a furnace. Jaskier blinked, still taken by surprise and not yet ready to even think about what had happened.

Geralt’s eyes were surrounded by creases that stretched onto his forehead, deepened from the moment he had stepped forward to catch him. Jaskier knew the look on his face, the carefully constructed illusion of unfazed neutrality that was at its strongest when he was anything but calm.

He watched as Geralt exhaled again, soft breath taking away some of the tension from his face. It seemed to result from the understanding that he was in fact unharmed.

‘Geralt,’ Jaskier managed to speak despite feeling like the fall had knocked the air out of his lungs.

‘Be a little more careful with your sorcery,’ Geralt snarled, directed at Triss who took it in stride, ‘we won’t find out what is going on if you concuss him.’

Yennefer’s laughter rang through the room. Her hand came to rest on Triss’ arm once again as she stepped closer and let her eyes rest on them. Jaskier did not like the way her eyes flashed, as if she had discovered a delicious secret that she would use against them. For a moment, her eyes bore into his soul. Then, she directed her attention to Geralt.

‘You are worried.’

No one tried to deny what Jaskier had read in the amber eyes still focussed on him. Geralt did not move, did not even meet her as her steps, light as a finch landing on snow, came to a halt in front of him.

For the second time, Yennefer grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Geralt. Triss retreated from her position and went to fetch something off the desk. Jaskier tried to follow Yennefer as she drew a few sigils in the air and stepped behind them.

‘Do it,’ she challenged, ‘do to me what you did to the man who you sent away bleeding. Cut me with that sharp tongue of yours!’

‘Yen,’ Geralt got up, stalked around the room, hands clenched into fists, ‘Yen, don’t –‘

‘I know what I’m doing, Geralt.’

‘What, like with the djinn?’

‘Geralt –‘

‘Tell your bard to give me a taste of his new powers.’

‘He is not my bard!’

‘Your plaything, then.’

‘Yen –‘

‘Oh, like I didn’t hear you last time you ended up on my door step? Should I tell your puppet what you told me?’

Geralt looked ready to murder her on the spot and Yennefer seemed to puff smoke as they circled each other. Jaskier followed the spectacle with rising worry, Geralt had seemed hurt for a moment, like a dog flinching back from its owner after being hit on the snout.

‘Maybe you should stop stalking and settle, for a moment,’ he suggested weakly.

Yennefer whipped around to him, ‘Do you ever stop talking like an idiot?’

‘Of course I talk like an idiot, how else would you understand me?’ The words left his lips before he could stop them.

He saw Geralt stop on the spot, rooted to the ground in horror. He saw Triss leaning forward, as if expecting to see bloody gashes on Yennefer’s cheeks. Yennefer gave him her full attention again.

‘There we go, songbird, let me have it,’ Yennefer grinned at him, teeth glinting, ‘why should Geralt ever keep you on a short leash again if you could rip through the lowly and deserving with your words?’

‘Your ass must be jealous of the amount of shit that comes out of your mouth,’ Jaskier faced her, chin proud and his pulse audible in his ears, ‘you can do better than that, if you want to cut deep before getting back to taking Geralt down that slippery slope that is your attention.’

‘Craving, bard?’

‘I'm afraid, Miss, that you're suffering from delusions of adequacy.’

‘Was that supposed to hurt?’ Yennefer danced around him and Jaskier could feel his blood boil.

She stepped closer to Geralt who wore his worry open now and slid her hand over his chest, ‘Isn’t this what you mean? I assure you, I am adequate enough.’

‘Somewhere out there is a tree, tirelessly producing oxygen so you can breathe. I think you owe it an apology,‘ Jaskier deadpanned, ignoring the way his insides coiled up.

‘Interesting,’ Yennefer’s demeanour changed into something else, pacified and smoothed over by a smile, ‘seems like you have to mean it in order to hurt. Would it have worked if I insulted Geralt?’

Jaskier felt himself deflate, ‘Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about this situation. In fact, I would like to voice my dissatisfaction with the way you are conducting these experiments.’

‘Oh songbird,’ her laughter rippled clear as a brook, ‘I think I knew what is going on from the moment I sensed your new aura.’

‘What is it then?’ Geralt interrupted, voice still gruff and tense, ‘Yennefer, if you don’t –‘

‘Don’t get your sword in a twist, Geralt,’ Yennefer cocked an eyebrow at him, ‘your bard is fine, no curse, nothing evil.’

‘How is cutting a man with words not evil?’ Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the need to comfort himself in what seemed an unreasonable amount of stress. It made him feel small and insignificant to stand in a room with a Witcher and two sorceresses who all still studied him with worry on their faces. It was of little solace to see them almost clearly at their wits’ end.

‘Yen,’ Triss gave her a little nudge, ‘by now you’re merely teasing. Just tell them, won’t you?’

‘It’s just too much fun,’ Yennefer shrugged, ‘I’ve never experienced him be so quiet. Like a scared little squirrel, almost.’

‘It’s a gift, a favour,’ Triss put her flat palm over Jaskier’s arm, ‘can you feel its warmth? It guides the new magic in you, lets it take hold in your bones and harnesses an inkling of chaos planted inside you.’

‘Whatever are you talking about, there is no chaos inside me, I am but a humble bard who picked one rather troublesome travelling companion and has suffered ever since.’

The warm kernel sitting underneath his heart throbbed and beat against his ribcage. Triss gave him a warm smile and winked at him.

‘You could feel that?’

‘I was trained to feel it,’ she replied, ‘it’s there and it’s as confused and new to this as you are.’

Geralt stepped up to them, one hand stretched out tentatively in Jaskier’s direction, his eyes not moving from the spot on his chest where Triss’ hand had been. She stepped aside and gave Jaskier’s hand a squeeze.

‘May I?’ Geralt replaced Triss’ hand with his own, placing it firmly on his chest.

Jaskier shivered as warm skin touched his over the neck of his shirt. He looked up to meet Geralt’s gaze, the quiet question plainly in his eyes. Geralt nodded almost subtly, silently asking for permission. Jaskier held still waiting for him to take his hand away. The Witcher did not move, keeping his palm pressed against his chest and turned to face Triss.

‘You mentioned a favour.’

‘ _Veles_ ,’ Triss said as if it explained everything, ‘our friend bard here was touched by the magic of words and music, favoured by a lower god. I don’t know how it happened or what the full extent of these powers might be but they are certainly intriguing. Maybe, if you don’t mind, we could study them a bit; don’t you think, Yen?’

Yennefer still contemplated them, lips pursed and scowling, ‘It doesn’t make sense, though. Why would he be blessed with a gift like that? It’s Jaskier.’

‘Oh come on,’ Jaskier huffed and let his arms drop open at his sides, ‘that’s just rich coming from a talentless, nagging, friend-stealing –‘

He stopped himself in time to see Yennefer reach for her cheek. A pink cut had appeared and a single drop of blood ran down her chin. Her fingers came up to stop it from falling, raising it to her eyes instead. At the same time, the taste of blood returned to his tongue, coating it in it.

‘Fascinating,’ she breathed, ‘really, fascinating. This is the most interest you have ever caused in me, bard, even more than the song you wrote about me.’

‘Yen,’ Triss warned again.

Jaskier caught Geralt’s gaze and shivered under its intensity. He seemed to try and keep up the eye contact, look flitting about and searching for something in his expression. His hand was still pressed against his chest, fingers fanned out over the dip of his collar bones and covering the plane of his breastbone.

‘I – I felt that,’ he rasped out, ‘it was strong.’

‘Of course you did, you’re wearing your medallion,’ Jaskier pleaded with him, trying to still stifle the feeling of slowly growing agony and desperation that clawed at him.

‘No,’ Geralt murmured under his breath, ‘in there.’

‘Now, isn’t that precious,’ Yennefer cleaned her face off with an embroidered handkerchief, ‘if anyone wants to know my humble opinion, which is about as humble as Jaskier’s opinion of himself – some lesser god decided to give him magic to protect himself and maybe get people to like him a little more. There really is no telling why.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Jaskier turned, breaking the contact between him and Geralt, ‘I certainly haven’t met a god, I’d have known if I did. Imagine the lay I would have composed, praising their divine beauty, the power thrumming through their veins, leaving me, but a humble bard to worship them and herald their might.’

‘Some lay it must have been,’ Yennefer grinned, ‘Geralt, you said you noticed it after you met him again in Oxenfurt, he smelled of magic and you pinned it on your bard’s bedpartner the night before? Might have been more than a simpleton impressed by big words, after all.’

‘You mean I fucked a god?’ Jaskier was well-aware that his voice was nothing more than a squeak as he stumbled back.

‘If you want to put it that way,’ Yennefer’s grin widened, ‘please spare us the details.’

Jaskier closed his mouth, too taken aback by everything he had been told. He leaned back against Geralt’s side and rested his head against his shoulder.

‘I think I need to lie down, Geralt. I feel faint.’

Triss jumped to his side and offered to take him to a bedroom but Geralt decided to not only tag along but also walk by his side all the way. When they reached the room where his lute and his belongings were waiting for him, Jaskier imagined they would leave him to it but he was proven otherwise. The sorceress smiled at him from the door.

‘If you want to, you can stay here for a bit and we can try and find out to which extent you can control your chaos,’ she suggested and he was inclined to believe her offer, ‘there are a few simple tests we could use to determine how much of it you can influence. Also, I’ll have food sent up, if you would like some.’

‘Thank you,’ Jaskier nodded an acknowledgement, ‘it’s rather a lot to take in but I’ll manage, I suppose.’

Triss left them to the room. Only when he had sprawled out on the bed, Jaskier realised that Geralt was still there, leaning against the wall and looking him over every few seconds.

‘We found out,’ he eventually said, ‘we can find out why, too, if you want to. Every god can be found and I, for one, want to find out.’

‘Why?’ Jaskier felt something tug at his heart, something he wanted to ignore for as long as he could.

‘I still don’t feel good having you running around with unexperienced magic. We might split up tomorrow and you’d be on your own with this mess,’ Geralt growled but there was an undertone to his voice that made Jaskier pay more attention to him than he had in the weeks leading up to this moment.

When they had set out from Oxenfurt, he had been inclined to blame everything that seemed out of the ordinary in Geralt’s behaviour on the time they had spent apart over the winter and his imagination which was notorious for its skill to distort memories and glorify single details of what he thought he remembered as part of their exploits. He was inclined to revisit his memories, especially the ones worked into songs, and admit that he had embellished and amplified certain details. Meeting up with Geralt again after the winter took some strain on his creative juices, a certain period of time during which it seemed harder to distinguish between the real Geralt and the one his songs praised and promoted.

Lying on a bed in Triss Merigold’s town house, however, he saw him plainly, no poetry-induced glamour to distract him from the way Geralt’s face twitched. Jaskier, relatively used to travelling on roads and staying at dingy inns, knew how difficult it could be to feel comfortable in a proper place. He suffered the repercussions every year after returning to Oxenfurt. Jaskier refused to even consider the possibility of it being connected to Geralt’s absence. After all, the tug drawing them away and onto different paths was a factor neither of them had ever planned on addressing.

‘Geralt,’ the realisation made his voice small, ‘you are genuinely worried about this.’

‘Of course I worry,’ the growl built in his throat and bit at something intangible between them, ‘I felt the chaos inside you there. I know how much it took to control what I use for my signs, I know what it does to sorcerers to control it, and you have just been thrust into this! Veles, Melitele, I don’t care which god did this but the gifts of gods are rarely anything but a double-edged sword.’

Jaskier pushed himself back onto his elbows, softening his expression, ‘Come here.’

It was not often that they did this, not this soon after some time apart. Still, Geralt almost shot across the room and knelt onto the thin straw tick next to him. Jaskier looked him into the eyes, trying to assure him as he took his hand in his and lifted it up over his chest, placing it where it had been earlier.

‘Listen,’ he told him, ‘you worry about the chaos inside me, you’re willing to divert your itinerary. I am going to call you friend again and there is nothing you can say to deny it.’

Geralt’s eyes, locked in his, were like pools of molten gold, tipped into the cool blue of his own. He would have found it poetic, if they had not been filled with something he had either managed to ignore for the last years, or that had clawed its way into them the way the creature growling at anyone touching Geralt. When he looked into his eyes, they were full of emotion.

‘Say it,’ he asked, ‘please, Jaskier, you need to say it.’

‘Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf, _Gwynbleidd_ – you are my friend,’ Jaskier said in all earnestness, feeling Geralt’s palm press down on his chest with the last word, ‘And if it makes you feel better about all this, we can seek the god responsible for all this, even if I think there really is no need for it.’

He felt Geralt relax in his arms. After a long day that had demanded a lot from them, Geralt seemed to allow himself to appreciate the safety of the house they stayed at, allowing himself to become more vulnerable as Jaskier threaded his fingers into his hair, loosened the tie and combed through the somewhat tangled, still wet strands. His rings caught on it but all he received was a deep grumble, buried deep in his chest.

‘Are you going to see Yennefer tonight?’ Jaskier asked some time later, after they had finished the food a page had carried into the room.

He felt his bones grow heavy and the strain on his psyche turn into a headache. Geralt looked up at him from where he sat hovering over their packs, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Jaskier sniffled a bit, hoping it would get Geralt to speed up his answer.

‘What, I just wanted to ask in case I needed to be aware of you needing to leave soon.’

‘I’m not leaving you out of my sight until we know what exactly happened and how you can control it.’

‘What about Yennefer, though? Didn’t you look forward to being with her again?’

Geralt took his hand off his chest. Something akin of a smile toyed with the corners of his mouth.

‘Yennefer and I are better off as friends, wouldn’t you agree?’

Jaskier eyed him suspiciously, watching as Geralt got up and turned around, his hands on his armour. He carefully took off the shoulder guards and set them down on the side table.

‘Geralt?’

‘Hm.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting ready to lie down.’

‘Don’t you want to retire to your own room?’

‘What, would you like me to relocate you there?’ Geralt cocked an eyebrow at him, ‘I just told you, I am not letting you out of my sight until we find out what’s going on.’

Jaskier watched as he took off the remaining parts of his armour and sat down in front of the gently crackling fireplace. The creature, as pacified as it had been, demanded he say something.

‘You know,’ he cleared his throat, ‘this bed is really big and spacious. You could always sleep up here.’

‘Hm.’

‘I mean it,’ Jaskier waved his arm next to him, ‘lots of space, not the first time we’d share, not the last, either. I’m sure of it.’

He laid down and pulled the blanket up to his chin. The exhaustion settled deep in his bones pulled him into the mattress, pushing his head into the pillows. He had almost fallen asleep when he heard some shuffling, felt the bed dip behind him and Geralt move into a comfortable position.


	6. Chapter 6

Something had changed again. Jaskier could not put his finger on it but it had happened at some point after arriving in Vizima. Despite staying under the same roof as Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt had not once left Jaskier’s room during the nights. He knew better than to comment on the matter, knowing that Geralt would react with nothing more than a grunt and the threat of mild violence to the back of his head.

Still, he did not see Geralt for most of the days they spent in Vizima, with Triss procuring multible contracts for him as a means of keeping him busy. It was more of a means to keep him and out of their hair as the two sorceresses experimented with the chaos embedded in Jaskier’s chest. According to Yennefer, it had been the only option after the Witcher had come barging into the study with both swords drawn after Jaskier had been surprised by the force the magic had broken out of him as he sang a tune about Triss’ exceptional beauty. The chaos had flickered to life and since it was his task to pay attention to what happened whilst he sang with a purpose, it had spooked him into yelping out loud and almost throwing his lute to the side when his fingers began to tingle. Geralt had come in expecting to have to fight something off and Yennefer and Triss decided to give him something to keep him busy whilst they trained Jaskier to feel, understand and direct his kernel of chaos after that.

Vizima soon had no more monsters roaming around within several miles around the city with Geralt taking up any contract proposed to him, sometimes even leaving before Jaskier got up in the morning. If he thought the bard did not notice him sneaking out in the grey hours of the morning, though, he was wrong. Jaskier slept with his back to him but still felt the mattress dip beneath him when Geralt got up, listened as he rummaged around the room and left without giving him much notice.

His own day began when he got up, prepared a quick breakfast for Triss, Yennefer and himself, insisting Zuzanna the cook take a moment to eat something herself before getting started on everything. After eating, he began his new studies with the sorceresses, holed up in the study with tomes and books.

Jaskier quickly reverted back to his student habits of the time he had spent at Oxenfurt. He prided himself in the long memory and pronounced self-awareness he possessed, trained over years of studying the ways of words, women and what made men lose their trousers. It only came in handy for him as Triss explained the ways of chaos and Yennefer teased it out of him in different ways. By the end of the third day of training, Jaskier could feel the chaos surging through his veins, could identify the way it could manifest in his words and direct it at something. He was not entirely sure how he could use the new gift and neither Triss nor Yennefer had been able to explain to him why he had been able to influence Geralt in his speed and agility.

In the afternoons, he tended to sneak away and composed for some time, leaving the sorceresses to something he was not permitted to witness. He had a favoured space, a small, open space underneath the roof beams, almost like a balcony but without a railing and just about big enough for him to sit there with his legs dangling from the wooden planks making up the attic floor. Playing his lute from there, he watched people passing by in the street beneath him, some of them looking up to see where the music came from that accompanied them on their ways.

Jaskier made sure to listen to his own words carefully, stopping himself whenever chaos began to lace his voice. He knew it was unlikely for him to hurt a random person in town but still, he took to playing instrumental tunes for a while every time he caught himself weaving magic into his verses.

By the time Geralt arrived back from his hunt in the evening, he had already stopped playing, not sure whether Geralt’s ban on his singing had been lifted between the griffin hunt and their arrival in Vizima. Since Geralt seemed in a foul mood most of the times when he came back, Jaskier made sure to sneak something luxuriously decadent into his dinner, likely to be unnoticed and uncommented but it made him feel somewhat less useless after a day of what he felt was doing nothing and making no progress.

Geralt still stayed in his room and fell asleep watching him, as if he wanted to make sure the chaos did not sweep Jaskier away during the night. In the morning, however, Jaskier woke up to him leaving as if he could not stand being in the same room as him.

Over the course of a week, they did not exchange more than a few words at the heavy table Triss had in the hall where they took their meals. It made Jaskier’s skin itch and filled his mouth with a rotten taste, no matter what delicacies Zuzanna procured and put onto the table. He still relished in the knowledge that Geralt did not go to see Yennefer, not once whilst they stayed at the house.

Then, Yennefer left. She had other business to attend to, as she explained, wrapped in a delicate coat that was lined with fur.

‘More important things than a bard who could not keep it in his pants and got infatuated with a god.’

‘I am not infatuated,’ Jaskier protested, ‘I didn’t ask for their favour, I was very much content with the life I am leading. I did not need chaos in my veins and words cutting my tongue, I did not ask for it. I don’t even know which god I am supposed to have bedded. I was happy on the road with Geralt, even if sometimes, he annoys the hell out of me.’

‘Easy, bard,’ Yennefer’s mouth twitched into a smile, ‘you’ll make me believe you.’

She moved on to where Geralt leaned against the wall, ‘He’s an idiot.’

‘I know,’ Geralt grunted and measured her with a look, ‘stay safe.’

‘I am merely stepping through a portal of my own conjuring.’

‘Cleverer people have messed up portals.’

She merely raised an eyebrow at him before kissing Triss goodbye and conjuring her portal, ‘Remember, bard, the gods toy with us in a way we cannot follow. Destiny is a tapestry woven with the strings of fate and we are neither seamstresses nor weavers.’

‘ _In the lap of the gods_ ,’ Jaskier repeated a phrase taught at Oxenford to humble the students in their towers.

Yennefer stepped through the portal with one last look back at Triss. The dust settled in the room between them, leaving nothing but emptiness between them. Jaskier still stared into the nothing she had left behind when Geralt shifted.

‘Jaskier, we’re leaving as well. Before lunch,’ he turned and stepped back into the bowels of the house.

‘What, we’re –‘

Triss smiled at him, hand stretched out in an offer, ‘You’re ready, Jaskier. We think you can control that spark of chaos inside you, you might even be able to harness it now. There is nothing left that we could explain to you with the means he have here. You are a good bard and now, you are something more. I trust you not to abuse the gift.’

‘Never,’ Jaskier followed her, ‘it scares the shit out of me.’

‘Not just you,’ Triss said, ‘this situation is a new one for all of us.’

‘Geralt –‘

‘Geralt doesn’t do change, especially not when it’s change he feels he should have been able to see coming.’

‘Geralt doesn’t do a lot of things.’

‘And yet, you’re still with him.’

Jaskier huffed wordlessly in response, unimpressed by the suggestion tinting Triss’ voice. He turned and went back inside. She followed him but turned towards her study when he set out for the room Geralt and he had occupied for the duration of their stay. Hearing Geralt rummage around in the room was odd in itself since he could easily move without making a sound Jaskier’s human hearing picked up.

‘Are you alright?’ He stopped in the doorframe and looked at Geralt, bent over his pack, back to the door and seemingly without attention on anything but the task in front of him.

The soft clinking of glass on glass let him know that he likely put his refilled potion bottles into their places. Triss had helped him out with a few plant based ingredients that he had run out of over the course of their last journey.

‘Geralt,’ Jaskier said after his first question went unregarded, ‘do you need a hand with your things? I can go get Roach ready or try and needle Zuzanna for some provisions.’

Geralt moved, turned and frowned at him, ‘Don’t.’

‘What? Don’t do what, help? Try and speed up our departure since you want to leave so eagerly? Don’t let people hear your voice? Don’t talk? That’s hardly news, I am destined to annoy you to the end of your Witcher days in songs that will haunt your every day even after my mortal life on this plane is to end. My words will be remembered, no matter when I die, and women will weep for me and for my songs’ sake, ballads still tear through the hardened hearts and children will still toss coins at you, reminding you of the way you forbade me speak and not succeeding with every hit.’

‘Don’t –‘ Geralt interrupted himself before busying himself with the potion kit again, ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘Like what?’ Jaskier blinked at him, ‘What do you mean?’

‘You still don’t think we should seek out that god.’

‘I think we should find a sorceress or mage not tied to you by longing and want and try to rid me of this chaos planted in my blood,’ Jaskier grabbed his lute case, shoved the last loose pages of paper inside that he had nicked from Triss’ desk and slung the case over his shoulder, ‘I don’t need chaos.’

‘Jaskier,’ the growl stopped him on his way out, sharp with an edge that usually meant he had overstepped a line.

Jaskier turned back around, eyebrow cocked expectantly. The Witcher stood, the silver sword already on his back, amber eyes trained on him as if he focussed his prey, nailing him down to the floor. He seemed to carry a question on his lips, close to voicing it, putting it between them – and then, he shook his head and grabbed the last things left on the bed.

‘I’ll get Roach, you go pester the cook for all I care. Just be outside in time.’

Jaskier knew a dismissal when he was given one. He left quietly and found his way to the kitchens, both to grab them something to take away on their next journey, wherever it would take them, and to say his farewell to Zuzanna. The cook stood over the heavy worktable, gutting a chicken. Her strong arms strained against the sleeves she had rolled up to the elbows.

‘Bardling,’ she wiped a lose strand of hair behind her ear, ‘what do you want in my kitchens, hm? Come to sneak some more wine, have you?’

‘No,’ Jaskier gave her a small smile, ‘we are leaving before lunch. Geralt sent me to get us some provisions. Do you have anything I might have?’

Zuzanna stared at him, cleaver stuck in the board she let the chicken drop onto, ‘You’re leaving already?’

He shrugged. Her gaze was intense, eyes pinning him down similar to what Geralt was capable off but with more intent to frighten him.

‘Why would you leave now, you’re still nothing more than a twig, no one could seriously take you out on the road again. How am I supposed to put some meat back on your bones with measly travel supplies, hm? Especially with that Witcher-type who seems without care for what a bard like you needs to sustain themselves. Let me look for something to pack together, what are they thinking, dragging you back out onto the road without the chance to show this city what a little starling they have in their midst. You didn’t get to sing once, did you? Oh, Vizima needs every entertainment it can get and to have a man of your name –‘

Zuzanna opened the pantry door with some force, slamming it into the wall, still prattling on about sorceresses and Witchers and their inability to value what was precious to humans. Jaskier had gotten to know her well enough to know that she still adored Triss, had been sent from the royal castle to cook for her but would not mince her words when it came to things that rubbed her the wrong way.

Jaskier watched as she piled food onto the table and began to pack it into pouches and the saddlebags he had brought. There was bread, tarts with mushrooms, vegetables and meat, hardboiled eggs, apples from the winter gardens of the king and a small sweet tarte. He watched with big eyes as Zuzanna set about storing everything.

‘It’s too much,’ he said, ‘Roach cannot carry all this.’

Zuzanna looked at him, looked him in the eye and made a sound, ‘Where is your bag?’

Jaskier produced it, tied to the lute case and dangling from his shoulder. There was little space in it except for a few garments, some products and notebooks he kept on his person. Zuzanna tutted at him and measured him with a single glance that seemed to drill into his bones.

‘You mean to tell me that the only food you take on treks that have no defined length before you set out is what the Witcher’s horse agrees to carry? One horse to carry supplies for two men?’

Jaskier shrugged, ‘It works.’

‘It works, he says,’ the old cook huffed and turned on her heel back around to the open pantry door, ‘it works if you want to starve yourself. Do you think that Witcher of yours takes into account that you cannot swallow a potion and forgot about your hunger?’

‘That’s not how the potions wo–‘

‘Don’t avoid the question,’ Zuzanna snapped at him, digging around in the pantry.

Jaskier bit his lip. He wanted to believe Geralt would remember just how fragile and mortal humans were when the time came but between him, Triss and Yennefer, between the new chaos flickering in his veins and the amount of apple slices he had plied Roach with and remembering just how happy she had been to let him step close to her once she had learned that he would always share with her, he knew Geralt would probably not understand.

‘I thought as much,’ Zuzanna nodded.

She held a small pouch in her hand and a woven bag that she handed him insistently, ‘This is a treat of some dried fruits. It’s not what I think you should have and you’re likely to eat them all in one go like a child without moderation but it’s something to nibble on. Also, some oats for that poor horse, to add to her diet on meagre days.’

Jaskier stared at everything she had loaded onto the table and shook his head, ‘Thank you, Zuzanna, I know you mean well. I can take the oats and store the fruit in my bag but for everything else, the saddlebags will have to do. It’s alright. Really.’

She stopped, looked at him and then proceeded to wrap her arms around his shoulders, ‘Jaskier, that man does not see you for what you are. Now, I don’t know what business you had with my lady in all these long hours handling magic upstairs but I doubt your Witcher understands the devotion a human can muster to give to a single person. Bardling, I have enjoyed your company here. Take care of yourself!’

‘You too, Zuzanna,’ Jaskier breathed in her smell of fire, freshly baked bread and the herbs she used on a daily basis in the kitchen, ‘thank you for everything. You are a treasure.’

‘Stop flattering,’ the cook held him at arm’s length, ‘will you sing for me? Just once, a short ditty?’

Jaskier nodded wordlessly and opened his lute case, words already forming in his mind as he quickly tuned the instrument. Zuzanna returned to her cleaver and chicken, casting a few looks in his direction, as if to make sure she did not miss him beginning.

_My gallant lad is my hero_

_He’s my warrior, gallant lad_

_I have neither sleep nor rest_

_Since my gallant lad went far away._

_I’m still worried every day_

_Wailing heavy, shedding tears,_

_Since my lively boy has left without me_

_And there is no word of him._

_My gallant lad is my hero_

_He’s my warrior, gallant lad_

_I have neither sleep nor rest_

_Since my gallant lad went far away._

_The songbirds’ song has lost its cheer_

_The facile friends lost all their play_

_The learned men are all so sad_

_Since my boy is nowhere near._

_My gallant lad is my hero_

_He’s my warrior, gallant lad_

_I have neither sleep nor rest_

_Since my gallant lad went far away._

_He’s like a young god just for me_

_Like king of nature and of tree_

_Golden heart and will of stone,_

_Still, he left me here alone._

_My gallant lad is my hero_

_He’s my warrior, gallant lad_

_I have neither sleep nor rest_

_Since my gallant lad went far away._

He finished his song with a little flourish on the last notes, soft, slow melody fading out as his voice carried out the chorus once again, longing and sadness carrying the words through the vault, echoing from the stone walls. Jaskier could no longer remember when exactly he had first written the song but it had proven popular in Oxenfurt and got picked up by other bards who played it on flutes and fiddles, sang it slow or fast, made it about the war heroes of Redania, Cintra or Temeria, depending on where they were from or where they sang it. Jaskier did not mind their use of poetic license.

Zuzanna’s eyes burned holes in his heart when he caught her gaze, shaking her head and sighing softly, ‘Poor lad. That is no song to part on, play me another to remember you by.’

‘You want a song more suited to you?’ Jaskier grinned, hitting a few more upbeat chords, ‘Oh, I know just the one.’

_Go and look at all my fields, is what the farmer said._

_So we ran and saw the wheat, standing straight and tall._

_There’s your wheat, have no fear at all._

_Miller, is the flour ready, for we must have bread?_

_Go and look in all my sacks, is what the miller said._

_So we ran and saw the flour, soft and white as snow._

_There’s your flour, as we turned to go._

_Mother, is the oven ready, for we must have bread?_

_Go and open wide the door, is what our mother said._

_So we ran and saw the loaves, crisp and brown to see._

_There’s your bread, ready for you to eat._

It was a tune well-known through the continent, taught to toddlers by their older siblings who had learned it from mothers, grandmothers and market women. It was a song that had its place in the heart of anyone who had ever had a taste of warm, crisp bread or sat by a kitchen fire whilst dough was kneaded. Jaskier remembered his mother singing the song to him, remembered the cook at his parents’ estate and the way she would feed him warm bread dipped in oil, rocking him on her knees in time with the jaunty tune. She had been the heart of the house, both his father and his mother had told him repeatedly.

Zuzanna made him feel similar, awakened memories in his chest that made him feel warm and comfortable in his skin. Her smile, the way her eyes glinted with mischief and passion and her quick tongue had procured her a spot in his heart and he wished no evil would ever befall her. More than that, he wished to do something, to leave something with her.

As he sang the song of bread and home, he felt the chaos stir in his chest, it licked at the insides of his heart and asked, begged for permission to drip into his voice, coat it with magic and a blessing he laced into the song. He sang for Zuzanna and her alone, it was a _Thank You_ for the hours he had been allowed to spend in the kitchen, helping, nicking food and annoying her with jokes he had come up with. The magic woven into his words was like a golden thread connecting Zuzanna to him.

Yennefer and Triss had taught him to envision the chaos he envisioned, told him to picture where he sent the effects of his voice and what they would do. In Zuzanna’s case, he wrapped a golden thread around her wrist like a bracer, in place against anything trying to harm her. His words, the fondness and love in his voice, and if nothing else, his stubbornness in this matter wove a protective glamour around the cook’s wrist with her being none the wiser.

When he ended his song, Zuzsanna let the cleaver drop onto the desk again and gathered him into her arms, ‘No matter what adventures lie ahead of you, my boy, the gods may bless your steps and the wind carry you easily.’

He did not explain the irony behind her words, instead, he smiled and hugged her back, ‘Our paths might cross again, Zuzanna. Who are we to know?’

‘Don’t let that Witcher of yours push you around all that much,’ she helped him pick up all the bags she had filled with a wink, sneaking another treat into his pocket.

Jaskier left the kitchen, bags over his shoulder, the melody of his own song still on his lips, close enough to feeling another stanza creep up to him. He tried to sound out the words and rhythm as he hummed, placing rhymes and emotion where it fit. He rounded a corner leading into the staircase up to the courtyard –

And ran into Geralt.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘You didn’t come.’

‘Well, I was getting food, as you told me to.’

‘Hm.’

Jaskier pushed the saddlebags back onto his shoulders but Geralt already reached out to take some from him. Their hands brushed together and Jaskier pulled his back, fearing Geralt may feel the repercussions of what he had been up to.

He turned around on the stairs and trudged towards the door leading outside. Jaskier followed him a moment later, staring at the broad shoulders disappearing from view. The sun shone onto the yard and warmed the stones beneath his feet. Roach stood by the gate, saddled and stomping, evidently impatient to move and continue their journey.

Triss was there as well, standing in the shadow, saying her farewells to Geralt who had ducked his head and fastened the saddlebags to Roach’s back. She held something in her hands that Jaskier could only identify as something made from cloth.

‘For you,’ she turned towards him, ‘a cloak to get you through the next time. Geralt told me you’re going into the wildlands, it might come in handy.’

Jaskier took the cloak from her, it was not half as colourful and flamboyant as the rest of his clothing but the dark, anthracite-coloured wool had been embroidered with a silver-white thread in the shapes of runes and signs that he did not know. Triss helped him fasten it around his neck, making sure he could still carry his lute over the shoulder. She stepped back with a smile.

‘It suits you. May it keep you warm and dry.’

‘Thank you,’ Jaskier returned her smile, ‘for your hospitality and the lessons you taught me.’

‘Don’t be afraid,’ these were her parting words for him, Jaskier realised, ‘the chaos inside you is yours to use. You are capable of great things. The gods have chosen well.’

He noticed Geralt halt for a moment before taking Roach’s bridle to lead her away, shooting them a dark look. Jaskier shrugged it off and made to join him.

‘We’ll meet again,’ he grinned, ‘I hope.’

Another wave, a few steps and then, they were back on the road, making their way through Vizima and towards the city gates. Jaskier fell into step with the Witcher as they wove past market stalls and playing children, along wide streets and narrow alleyways. Jaskier counted the taverns they passed, trying not to imagine how much coin he could have made just by slipping out and singing in one or two of them.

Geralt grunted, ‘Did Triss say anything more about your god?’

Jaskier bristled at the sour tone the Witcher had spoken in, ‘It’s not my god.’

‘She said the gods had chosen well. Was there more than one?’

‘Damned Witcher hearing,’ he strode out a little longer, ‘don’t listen in on conversations, you big brute! There is no privacy with you around, why am I even –‘

Geralt huffed something he could not understand but he picked out the word ‘imperilled.’ Jaskier felt like throwing some words at him, cut him with a quip but his head was empty and his tongue leaden when he looked towards him.

Geralt tried to hide behind the stoic, stony mask he put on when he was seen but Jaskier saw past it, spotted the uncertainty in his eyes when his gaze flickered over him. He returned to almost neutral the moment he averted his gaze again but Jaskier had noted it already.

‘You’re still worried,’ he exhaled carefully as if he could spook Geralt with a revelation, ‘why?’

‘We are seeking a god. I know how to deal with griffins, drowners and every other monster on this plane but I have never faced a god.’

‘You’re not going to have to fight him, though,’ Jaskier tried to pour oil on the troubled waters of Geralt’s soul, ‘if Triss and Yennefer are right, Veles just wanted to express his favour of a poet he enjoyed. Surely, there is no need to fight him!’

The silence between them was fraught with meaning. Jaskier looked up to meet Geralt’s eye but found him averting his gaze.

‘Geralt,’ he said quietly, ‘you won’t have to fight him, will you?’

‘Who knows,’ Geralt’s grip around the reins tightened, ‘minor deities, you never know when they’ll decide to get tricky.’

Jaskier followed him a few more steps along the main road, not far from where he had cut a man’s face open with his words. He contemplated the few words Yennefer and Triss had let slip about the god he seemed to have captured.

‘Veles, anyway,’ Geralt’s voice was still controlled in a way that suggested he was rather close to losing his composure, ‘never heard of him expressing an interest in humans before. Why now? Why you?’

‘Don’t know much about him, at Oxenfurt, they just told us he is one of the minor gods, one with many responsibilities that no one really prays to,’ Jaskier shrugged, ‘magic, words and nature, I seem to recall as his fields. Not very threatening.’

Geralt’s eyes darted to his swords, attached to the saddle, ‘We’ll see about that.’


	7. Chapter 7

Geralt’s jaw remained tightly shut until after they had left Vizima through the northern gates. The spring sun shone down on them, warm and bright, birdsong and the sound of busy insects buzzing around filled the air. Jaskier breathed in deeply, letting his lungs fill with the fresh air outside the city walls. They set out onto the street leading north once they passed the first crossroads.

He could feel songs begin to write themselves, growing stronger with every step they took. Geralt seemed not to notice the wonders of spring around them but he, the bard, saw and noticed it all, and shelved each memory carefully for later use as imagery in his songs.

‘Where do you think we can find this Veles?’ he dared to ask after some time on the road, ‘or do you at least have an idea where we could start looking? As of now it feels like we are just taking a trip into the blue.’

‘His temple might be a good idea,’ Geralt shrugged.

‘Where?’

‘Where do you think a god of music and poetry has their temple?’

‘Oh,’ Jaskier screwed up his face, trying to hide the hint of disappointment he felt, ‘I thought I would get to stay away from Oxenfurt for a bit longer than this.’

‘No, not Oxenfurt where the arts are taught along rigid lines and rules,’ Geralt shook his head, the hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth, ‘music and poetry, the language all nature knows in one way or another.’

The smile disappeared but his gaze wandered to a point behind Jaskier. He followed it, turning around in a circle without spotting anything that would have aroused attention. Nothing but himself and his lute.

‘Oh,’ Jaskier made again, a realisation prodding his mind, one hand coming to rest heavy on the lute case on his back, ‘Filavandrel. The elves?’

‘Hm.’

Jaskier’s heart gave a weak flutter. He was not entirely sure why he felt like stars had realigned themselves in one way or the other and something shifted but a strange mood took hold of him and he began to hum again. It was a livelier version of the song he had played for Zuzanna and before long, he sang it, too, no longer able willing to keep the words contained.

_My gallant lad is my hero_

_He’s my warrior, gallant lad_

_I have neither sleep nor rest_

_Since my gallant lad went far away…_

Geralt mounted Roach to get a vantage point over the dusty street some time later. His monosyllabic replies to Jaskier’s questions, ramblings and comments had died down entirely and something had hardened his expression again. Jaskier could not imagine what had been reason for the change but it was by far not the first time Geralt’s mood changed whilst he sang. At least, he refrained from insulting his singing too much.

Almost losing his bard to an angry djinn would do that.

***

Jaskier tried to keep the chaos out of his voice whenever he played in taverns on the way north, towards the Pontar. Geralt let him sing and dance, spin his tales of heroes and woeful love, of women destined to find the man who had saved them from monsters both bestial and human. He took to sitting in his corner without paying much attention to the bard singing his heart out in front of farmers, tradesmen and travellers. Jaskier did not mind his companion seeking out the shadows but worried at the dwindling numbers of contracts Geralt seemed to take. When villagers approached him, he was more and more likely to shake his head and hesitate before agreeing. He could not explain to himself why the Witcher found it hard to accept what had been his work in the years before.

Whenever Jaskier offered to come along and help Geralt, he turned him away and went out on his own, making him promise to stay behind and look after the things he left with him. Over time, Jaskier realised that he did not want him to help out. He found the times he was left alone worse than ever before when he had known himself to be a mere bard, incapable of doing anything to help but with the newly-found chaos in his veins, Geralt seemed to dismiss him harder than ever.

Jaskier used the long hours to write laments and ballads, quickly filling the paper he had taken from Triss’ house and only leaving their rooms in taverns and inns to buy new sheets that would not last long as one after another, longing and disappointment fed into the new songs he composed.

The journey east was a long one and Jaskier found himself in a few taverns along the way where he could perform. The demands to play _Toss a Coin_ went on and on, the free drinks came and he found himself rhyming short verses for barmaids who blushed and were too forward to tempt him in any way. He still talked about them, at night, when he lay curled up on his bedroll in the woods, after they left another village. He spoke about their beauty and the smiles they gave him. He prattled on about them because it was expected of him to fall in love every night. Geralt humoured him most of the times but he got quieter than usual after some time on the road. So Jaskier talked enough for both of them.

They had passed Hagge on a grey day, heavy rainclouds hanging over the horizon, looming and threatening to drench them before dusk. Roach trotted on, Geralt tried to keep his eyes on everything around them and Jaskier did not feel like singing. He did not even feel like talking, either, not since they had spotted Ellander’s spires days before, north from where their path took them. His thoughts had been diverted, knowing that the main temple of Melitele was a single day’s ride away from where they followed the road. Thinking about gods had not made his days easier. He had almost finished the song about Veles, the mysterious lover he had not realised was more than a curious student at the Academy, more than maybe a knowledgeable nobleman with good taste. It was a song long in the making and he spent hours polishing off single lines to make sure they really reflected the ethereal beauty and grace of the god he had met. The memory was glazed over in his mind, as if something kept him from remembering every detail of the night he tried to depict in his song of worship. When he had asked Geralt whether there was a possibility to check whether some magic had caused his forgetfulness about something so sweet, the Witcher had only huffed and rolled over next to their fire, dragging his blanket over his shoulder and turning his back on him.

‘You could be a little more helpful,’ Jaskier pondered, trying to convey how serious he was, ‘after all, I would have been very content without hunting a god.’

‘So this is my fault?’

‘That I did not say,’ Jaskier sighed and dug through his pockets for a dried fig, left over from what Zuzanna had snuck him, ‘I know you want to be sure nothing can get to us in a few years, you want to assure yourself – but I still cannot make sense of it. Why is it so important to you to know what exactly this god wants from giving me the chaos you are trying so hard to ignore.’

‘Hm.’

‘And here I was, proud you said a complete sentence,’ the bard watched a hawk swoop down and into the trees on the other side of the road, ‘I fear we are going in circles, Geralt.’

‘What, circles,’ Geralt huffed, ‘the road is going straight on.’

‘Not on the actual street, in our conversation,’ Jaskier rolled his eyes, ‘I think you are trying desperately to avoid talking about the whole issue because you, for once, don’t know in the slightest what we might come up against. There is no bestiary for the gods.’

His own nerves got to him, after all, and made his voice shake a bit. The uncertainty left him bereft of any way of knowing what he wanted to hear, what could happen to help him quell the urge to know that he had tried to bury deep in his conscience. Geralt did not grace him with a look but his voice rumbled low in his chest.

‘I just want to be sure that nothing can happen, nothing can demand anything in return for this favour, this gift. I need to be sure,’ Geralt stopped himself, gathering his thoughts before continuing, ‘I need to be absolutely sure that nothing can call in that favour, and potentially hurt you.’

‘Now, that’s very sweet of you,’ Jaskier patted his leg, ‘and I understand your need to care for me to the point of facing down a god. Just know – no, no interrupting, I must say this – just know that I will be singing your praises as the conqueror of the gods afterwards anyway.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ Geralt hummed, ‘have you got all songs out of your system now, that we’ve left the boundaries of civilisation behind us? You have tortured my ears enough with your wailing about lost lovers and fainting women. Never thought I’d come to miss those horribly wrong retellings of my contracts.’

‘Not by far, dear Witcher,’ Jaskier sing-songed, ‘I have ideas aplenty and you must give me your honest opinion on them, since no soul is around who could do so, otherwise.’

The land around them was already sparsely populated and near barren. He remembered the last time he had walked the street up to Posada, on his own, without much to his name and still trying to find what would become the focus of his creativity. On his way back, he had followed a Witcher and had been struck by inspiration, going on to write his early masterpiece. The dusty streets and rocky ditches, the leafless bushes and thorny skins of succulents under the harsh sun were something he remembered vividly.

‘Do you think the elves are still there, in Dol Blathanna?’

‘They aren’t, if they know what’s good for them,’ Geralt’s look drifted off towards the pale silhouette of the mountains on the horizon, ‘we’ll know before long. If Yennefer and Triss were right and you owe your new skills to Veles, he will make himself known to us, I suppose. Those gods, weavers of destiny, all of them. Nothing good ever comes from them and I doubt this will be an exception.’

Jaskier caught the way Geralt’s eyes darkened and a shiver ran through him. He almost felt like his friend knew something that he kept from him. A weight settled into the pit of his stomach that he could not shake but Jaskier would not have been the bard and master of his trade, if he had been unable to gloss over the moment of weakness.

They camped in a small grove, hidden from the street by thick, thorny bushes; opened up their bedrolls around the small fire Geralt built to cook a stew of things they still had left over and some fresh meat he set out to hunt. During their last stays, Jaskier had earned them enough coin to provide for them until they got back to Oxenfurt but supplies were still hard to find, no matter how much coin they had. Geralt told him he expected to be a while before disappearing into the forest.

Jaskier sat back against the trunk of a large tree, the lute in his hand, composing, continuing on the song praising the man who was always on his mind. Words and rhymes seemed to come slower to him, as if molasses had dropped from the crown of the tree above him and encased him in it, stilling his fingers and putting his mind to rest. He let the sensation take over and closed his eyes, resting the lute in his lap without making another sound.

His imagination took him away, along the Dyfne and past Posada, and towards the mountains rising up from the ground, rooted deep in the valleys around them, harsh and ragged in their defiance of the world, a shelter for the outcasts. He flew along, letting his mind wander and try and find traces of something he didn’t know he could find. The mountains seemed to call out to him, dragged him closer along paths that seemed familiar to him, trodden before he had really grown accustomed to the world.

His flight came to a sudden end as he found himself in an open space on the other side of the mountains, landing in soft cushions and furs that were piled in a sun-flooded cave. He scrambled to the side, trying to leave the platform he was on. A soft laughter caressed his ears, rippling and joyous, a teasing tickle down his spine.

‘Jaskier, my flower. What has you all in a twist like that?’ The soft voice is nothing more than a whisper, barely louder than a brook running smooth and clear over rounded stones, ‘Are you not pleased with the gift I gave you?’

‘Your gift?’ Jaskier was surprised to hear his own voice, strong and firm, echoing through the cave.

He looked around and out of the mouth of the cave. Where he would have expected the barren boulders of the mountains, the dead bushes and dried out springs of creeks and rivulets that no longer fed into the Dyfne and Pontar, he saw lush, juicy grass, fruit-bearing trees and glistening brooks snaking their ways through the green pastures. Bees droned between flowers and blooms, a few deer grazed in the clearing and behind a few rocks, a path led on, towards a full forest. Jaskier knew, deep in his subconscious, that it was impossible, there was no forest in the mountains and yet, he could smell it, wafting on the wind.

He turned around, almost colliding with a wolf that strolled past him, not regarding him with more than a warm huff down his neck. Jaskier crossed eyes with it. The animal seemed to smile.

‘I just thought, you deserved something special. Your lifestyle is not suitable for a man of your vulnerability, you run into danger head-on, rather than away from it and nothing can keep you from it. I have to admit, it took me longer to find out why than I would normally expect from me.’

‘Veles?’

‘So you found out,’ there was a chuckle in the voice.

‘Why?’ He looked around, watched as the wolf disappeared behind the rocks and trotted towards the impossible forest, ‘why me?’

An airy sound surrounded him. For a moment, Jaskier was inclined to believe he was being laughed at. Then, a last whisper on the wind caressed his chin, as if a hand rested there, brushing a thumb along his cheeks. He fought the urge to lean into it.

‘You know the way now, my bard, come visit.’

Jaskier opened his eyes with a start. He was in the clearing where Geralt had left him behind. The fire was still cackling. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he would not have forgiven himself if it had gone out. There was a spit propped up over the fire on which two birds roasted, slowly grilling and filling the evening with their mouth-watering smell.

‘You’re awake,’ Geralt’s gruff voice made him look up and meet his look.

He sat across the clearing, with his back against another tree. It looked like he had been whetting his swords and daggers in his lap whilst Jaskier was –

Looking around, he found no sign of the inviting green pastures and the forest in the mountains. Instead, he had slipped from the tree trunk behind him and lay on the dusty ground between its roots. He wrinkled his nose. The doublet he wore would need to be beaten thoroughly to get all the dirt out of it, the cloth was too fine to risk washing it in the next stream. Jaskier shook his head as if it would chase away the nonsense in his head that still clung to his thoughts.

‘What happened?’

Geralt met his gaze but the confusion in his eyes took him by surprise, ‘You mean when you were asleep? I came back and found you here, asleep, not keeping watch. There was nothing else I could do but wait for you to wake up again.’

‘But I was –‘ Jaskier still looked around for any sign that told him he had no idea what he should be looking for, ‘I thought I had heard something.’

‘You were in deep slumber, bard,’ Geralt put his blades back into their sheaths and got up, ‘didn’t want to wake you up.’

Jaskier blinked and followed him to the fire, ‘You didn’t want to wake me up?’

‘You looked peaceful. Humans need rest after a long day,’ Geralt took the meat off the spit, ‘and regular meals.’

‘Since when do you care about how regularly I eat?’

Geralt muttered something that Jaskier could not understand, ‘I’m sorry, dear Witcher, what was that? I don’t have your wonderful hearing to hear every whisper on the wind.’

Geralt merely raised an eyebrow at him. He accepted his share of Geralt’s quarry and sat down by the fire to warm his side. Once the sun and the warmth of the day dissipated, he noticed the shivers that took over and made it hard for him to play his lute because his fingers froze and got stiff. They ate in silence because even a bard needed to eat and he had been raised too well to talk through a mouthful of food. Jaskier tried to recall the dream he had had, tried to remember whether the path into the mountains had been a real one, whether they would get to Dol Blathanna and find it had transformed into a green paradise where elves returned to golden halls and lavish estates. It had been a nice dream. After all, it had been the generous gift of Filavandrel’s lute that had allowed him to compose his first masterpiece.

‘Geralt,’ he washed down the last bite of meat with a gulp from his waterskin, ‘what exactly do you know about Veles?’

‘Didn’t you say they taught you about the gods at your fancy university?’

‘They do but Veles seems so bewildering to me. God of music, yes, and of magic, pastures, waters, fertility, trickery and medicine as well. Which god can call that many domains their own? He has more tasks than Melitele herself,’ Jaskier tried to get his hands onto his lute case but Geralt shook his head softly, a sign for him to spare his nerves.

‘Those academics,’ Geralt sighed, ‘the gods claim many domains to watch over but only a few of them care enough to truly do something. Melitele is a rare exception but she does not actively meddle with the mortals who believe in her. Other gods play with us, use their mortals as figures in a game of chess amongst each other. I have no use for gods like that and Veles, from all I have heard throughout the lands, is one of the worst meddlers. He just usually seems to avoid humans.’

‘Hm,’ Jaskier patted a rhythm on his thigh, ‘of meddling gods and their games. I should make that into a song.’

_A god with time to spare_

_With time and will at hand_

_It means that without care_

_For all that we have planned_

_Will come to nothing._

‘What do you think?’ He watched as Geralt leaned back against the tree behind him, ‘it’s only a rough sketch, of course, just a stanza.’

‘Of course,’ Geralt closed his eyes, ‘it’s not bad. Surely, you’ll come up with a lovely melody to accompany it and calm the waters in case you enrage a god.’

Jaskier noticed the undertone in his voice. A few pieces slotted into their places in his mind and made him see clear, realisation dawning on him with the urgency of a house on fire.

‘You worry he might turn on me,’ he threw the bones into the fire and watched them crack and sizzle, ‘Geralt –‘

‘The gods’ power and will is not for us to understand.’

‘You don’t even believe in the gods.’

‘And yet, here we are.’

Jaskier wanted to challenge him over the words hanging between them but Geralt’s eyes were unguarded for once, amber burning to rival the fire he stoked for them. For him, more than himself, the Witcher ran hotter than any human Jaskier had met throughout the years.

‘Here we are,’ he agreed instead and tugged his bedroll around the clearing, towards where Geralt had already stretched out his on the ground, ‘I dreamed, earlier. It was a nice dream but nothing more.’

Geralt watched as he settled into the blankets, trying to warm them up before the real cold got to them. Jaskier rolled himself up in the bedroll and tried to quiet his thoughts, especially the ones screaming at him to let Geralt know he had recognised his own words in the Witcher’s mouth, to tell him about the dream and ask just how worried he was for him as night fell over their campsite. He did not ask and Geralt threw another log into the fire to be consumed without another word being uttered as he lay down beside Jaskier who, despite all his attempts to calm his mind, struggled to sleep.

They continued onwards and towards the mountains as soon as day broke the next morning. Jaskier had managed to sneak Roach another apple to convince her to walk a little slower than before, allowing him to keep up with her. Geralt probably saw the silent negotiation take place but Jaskier could not bring himself to care. Thoughts were still coming thick and fast in his head, tumbling through the vast emptiness of his mind and he was thankful for any minute he did not have to spend jogging after a horse.

He tripped, buried in thought, as soon as they stepped back onto the dirt track. The only thing keeping him from face planting into the dust and rocks was Geralt’s hand around his arm, keeping him upright as Jaskier tried to stay on his feet.

‘Not done dreaming yet?’ The growl lost in intensity as the Witcher patted him down as if to dust him off, despite him having avoided stirring up any dust from the street.

‘Do you know these dreams that just do not let you go for a few days after you had them? They are the most exquisite thing but your head gets clouded and distracted by them if you dwell on them,’ Jaskier sighed, ‘a pity, mine was exceptionally lovely.’

‘What did you dream about? Food, women and wine?’

‘The audacity,’ Jaskier huffed and grinned, ‘it was a pleasant memory of landscapes we travelled together. After all this time we have shared, I still cherish the early days of our – oh, stop those grunts, I won’t call it friendship since you take such offence in it – companionship, are you satisfied now?’

‘Hm,’ Geralt spurred Roach on and cast him another glance, ‘you dreamed of Dol Blathanna?’

‘We were awful, back then,’ Jaskier shrugged, ‘me, young and naïve, believing what the tutors and professors taught me; you, old and boorish already, steeped in self-pity. We have come quite a way since then, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘If you say so. You have aged,’ Geralt avoided the shove against his leg and grinned down at him, ‘well, maybe not mentally. You’re still as childish as you were the day we met.’

Jaskier giggled, letting it flow from his lips. The sun stood high in the sky and warmed his face, he had a song on his lips and Geralt let him sing his newest creation, allowed him to test different melodies and words as they made their way along the banks of the Dyfne. His composition, the attempt to catch and describe everything he wanted to express, came along nicely. In his opinion, he had managed to write the most flattering, indulgent and open song he had written in a while, inspired by the extraordinary experiences he had had since the kernel of chaos had taken up residence in his veins.

_Make humans shake and tremble,_

_From Cintra to Vidort_

_When called to here assemble_

_And fight what you cannot._

_His patience everlasting_

_With human tongues all foul._

_Against us he’s outlasting_

_What we pose with a howl._

‘Wouldn’t you agree that it sounds rather clumsy?’ He shook his head as if it would help to get the many thoughts out of his head that he wanted to sort through and include to praise his muse.

‘It won’t impress a god,’ Geralt replied flatly.

‘Never said it would,’ Jaskier frowned at his fingernails, inspecting them with some interest, ‘I just can’t get it out right.’

Geralt began to suggest words to him that he could add to the song. They were neither descriptive nor flamboyant enough to make Jaskier even consider using them but it was something to keep them occupied on their journey. It was somewhat obvious to Jaskier that Geralt had not listened to him whenever he had tried to play the song for him. He was used to it but the Witcher’s comments were aimed at the lyrics with such precision that it was clear that Jaskier had not yet achieved his goal of showing his admiration for the single person ever-present on his mind. There were only so many words to describe what was not human.

Jaskier did not mind that Geralt paid no real attention to his songs. They had spent enough time trying to come to an understanding where Jaskier’s music was involved. It meant that he could write songs about him that Geralt would never understand were about him, in the guise of something else. Usually, replacing the object of his focus with a female vaguely familiar to Geralt, them being tavern wenches or clients who had at least smiled at him or had given him their attention in the more obvious, flirtatious ways was something he got away with without the Witcher noticing. Geralt sometimes asked about a specific one of them, always accompanied by a raised eyebrow, as if he expected Jaskier to vindicate his decisions, songs and the subjects of which he sang.

‘You have a few days to come up with something that makes a god weep,’ Geralt grunted, ‘it might be the thing to grant you your freedom.’

Jaskier just rolled his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

The familiar sight of the mountain sides around Posada made Jaskier sigh in relief and tense up at the same time. Geralt had made his intentions about this stretch of land very clear to him, they would not stop there or stay at an inn and for once, Jaskier had agreed immediately, his skin itching with the phantom sensation of food hitting him with as much force as the patrons had been able to muster. They had depended on what Geralt could still hunt and Jaskier plucked off the bushes they passed for a few days, rather than having what Jaskier remembered to be a watery soup and stale bread in a dingy, dark tavern.

It pleased Jaskier immensely to notice he was better equipped to scale the mountain paths of Dol Blathanna this time around. He told Geralt as much, resulting in an amused grin from Geralt when his self-satisfied comment resulted in him losing his breath as he tried to keep up with him, and tripping over a stone.

‘What exactly do you mean with equipped, bard, hm? The reinforced boots I told you to get or the water-resistant cloak Triss gave you?’

‘My stamina, Geralt, my stamina of course, I’ve followed you across the whole continent on foot, I had to keep up with a Witcher on horseback at all times,’ Jaskier puffed out his chest a little, ‘That is impressive, I tell you!’

‘Well, if you say so it must be true,’ Geralt hummed, ‘after all, no lie has ever left your lips.’

‘Exactly – hey,’ Jaskier caught the way Geralt’s eyes glinted in the evening sun, ‘Rude!

Geralt responded with an actual laugh, a little hoarse and near-quiet but Jaskier still caught it. He continued next to the Witcher with a smile on his face. The weeks’ long journey from Vizima out east had taken a toll on both of them, especially since Geralt had admitted he had thought about the way Veles would welcome them, if they found him. Jaskier had been sure nothing would have scared the Witcher but the possibility to clash with a god seemed to have made him re-evaluate his usual, slight wariness towards the gods and replaced it with something Jaskier tried to ignore when he caught a glimpse of it. It pained him to think his Witcher was afraid of the god they sought out.

Coming back to Dol Blathanna had its upsides, too. Since they knew the place where Filavandrel and his elves had hidden all these years ago, Geralt suggested to turn into that direction. Jaskier agreed, too occupied with what he saw out of the corner of his eye to pay more attention to what he said. Somewhere near the horizon, where the mountains melted with the dusty red sky illuminated by the setting sun, something caught his attention. He tried to hide the gasp that escaped him but Geralt’s head turned already, focussing on him. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, trying to scent what had agitated the bard.

‘What? What is it, Jaskier?’

Jaskier winced. He felt the hook find purchase behind his ribs and begin to tug him away from Geralt, towards what seemed to be a crevice off the beaten path, leading up to the mountain ridge. There was a shadow on the edge of his vision as Geralt’s arm shot out and tried to grab hold of him but he was already gone, on his way of squeezing himself through the gap. Thorns tore through his clothes and branches whipped into his face.

He recognised the path beyond the crevice, had travelled above it before. Somewhere in his mind, he tried to tell himself that is was impossible for him to see something out of a dream in the light of the ending day and yet, it stretched out before him and he could not stop his feet from carrying him along the passage, deeper into the mountains, away from Geralt and even the caves the elves had lived in. Jaskier felt cold sweat run down his temples. Still, he continued onwards, deeper into the mountains.

At first, he thought he had simply lost his mind but the farther he walked on the path, the clearer the sounds around him became. He thought himself hallucinating when he heard birds singing their sweet songs and the rustle of leaves in a breeze of wind that had not been palpable on the road. None of the bushes on the other side of the crevice had foliated in the slightest and yet, he heard the sounds of life loud enough to be obvious. The dried-out soil on the other side of the ridge had scrunched under his soles, all sand without any moisture in it to support growth. Here, luscious grass gave way under his steps and sprang back up, strong and fresh, as if it had never been pressed down in the first place.

‘Jaskier,’ he turned around, half expecting to see Geralt, angry and demanding for him to come back.

Instead, he came face to face with a soft smile and sparkling eyes that held in them more than a world could bear. They reflected the stars on a canvas of dark night sky, a universe beyond the humanly imaginable. It was a face he knew, had seen it twist in pleasure and witnessed the eyes drink in his own lust.

Jaskier nodded sharply, his head dropping into that quick hint of a bow his mother had taught him when he would refuse any other honorifics, ‘My lord Veles.’

‘Oh, you flatter me,’ the soft, pleasant voice danced around him, soft as silk and warm as a late summer morning, ‘come now, there is no need for such courtesies, not after the wonderful night we shared.’

‘You didn’t tell me who you were,’ Jaskier winced at the sharp accusation in his voice.

‘What, did you wanted a name? A relationship with the stranger kind enough to dispel your thoughts? Oh, I can hear you think even now, my little bard.’

Veles, the god Veles, he reminded himself, stepped up to him, his eyes wise beyond the youth he clouded them with. Jaskier tried to see past the cover of chaos thrown over his expression like a blanket but surged and broke against it like the spray around the jetties by the coast of Oxenfurt. He felt the warm hand caress his cheek and allowed himself to seek out the comfort the touch promised for a moment. It had been months since he had experienced it and he felt it trickle through his system, greeting the kernel of chaos inside him like an old friend.

He opened his eyes that had fallen shut at some point to blink at the god in front of them, ‘You told me to come find you.’

‘And you did.’

‘You invited me to your temple.’

‘And what a temple it is, wouldn’t you agree?’ A second arm came to reach out around them, as if to show of the reams of living, blossoming nature around them, ‘I built it myself, the humans so seldom know what to do to make me feel at home.’

‘They build temples of stone and wood for you,’ Jaskier breathed in and the rich air filled his lungs, making him feel like he would never run out of breath again, ‘they build you houses and forts.’

‘And I thank them for it and dwell here.’

‘You are a god of pastures and free waters,’ Jaskier whispered and watched as a few rabbits scampered through the tall grass, ‘nothing can keep you in stone houses.’

‘My flower,’ Veles smiled at him, eyes twinkling with pride, ‘a special bloom in my temple.’

He linked their arms and softly led him to a small brook that fed the luscious growth on the banks. In the middle of a tuft of grass, between lark spur and dandelions, a strong, proud buttercup grew and stretched its petals towards the sun. Veles knelt next to it and motioned for him to follow his example.

Jaskier crossed his legs and stared into the clear water of the brook in front of him, ‘Why did you come to me of all people?’

The warm palm was back on his cheek, forcing him softly to look up and meet his gaze, ‘Your reputation as a musician made me curious more than anything. It is not often that a bard of your stature manages to get as well-renown as you are without being blessed by me. I needed to find out what your inspiration rests on, if not divine praises.’

Jaskier felt a thumb strike his skin and as soft as it was, he could not help but shiver. The touch was gentle and tender but he could still feel the strength behind it, the contained power that thrummed through his veins. It was both reassuring and daunting, a reminder of his own mortality and fragility.

‘Oh how you surprised me, little flower,’ Veles whispered and leaned in, filling Jaskier’s senses with the scent of nature, of healthy soil and the prettiest blossoms, ‘you are special amongst all who tread the path of music and poetry, a singular occurrence in a world driven by the strive for recognition. Oh, your first songs may have been guided by your hunger for fame but it was your selflessly written songs that made you the best of the lot. The cruelty of the world may have surprised you but you used your talent to make it better, verse by verse.’

‘I didn’t – how did you – ‘

‘How I came to be interested in you?’ Veles let his fingers trace his jaw, tipping his chin up, ‘You could say it was an accident.’

‘An accident?’ Jaskier felt his voice waver, he tried to concentrate but his vision of Veles shimmered and strained his eyes.

‘Veles, lord of the pasture, of music, of poetry, of magic,’ the god raised his voice with a chuckle, ‘they pray to me for healthy cattle, for inspiration and for fertile daughters. I care for them, I do, but there is only so much fun to be had with those domestic little lives. Travelling musicians seeking adventures, travellers in need of support and protection, those are my favourites.’

Jaskier listened as his voice grew, became like the rushing of wind in the trees around the pasture, as it shifted and rippled clear as fresh water one second and sounded like the joyous birdsong the next. He watched as the face he watched shifted from that of the beautiful young man he had met in Oxenfurt to an older, wiser and into something wild before it turned back into the youth.

‘My little flower,’ he sighed, ‘they all miss one of my charges. They all miss the wild in the tame pasture, the deep magic in humanity. They all have forgotten.’

‘Forgotten? What have they forgotten?’

Veles moved his thumbs to cover Jaskier’s eyes, closing them gently without pressure. In the dark that encompassed him, Jaskier could hear his voice, a whisper, a moan, a tremendous roar and then a howl.

‘They all have forgotten the wolves. Even the wolves themselves.’

A twig snapped behind them. Jaskier wanted to turn around, worried to have missed a danger sneaking up on them but Veles held him with steady arms, still covering his eyes and there was a new whisper in his ears that made him go limp in his hold. He felt the warmth settle into his consciousness and fill him with a bone-deep satisfaction and fatigue.

‘Let go of him!’

It was not more than a low growl, a threat that made Jaskier shiver in the lap of the god still caressing him. He knew the voice, the carefully controlled anger and roar, almost as melodious as the song of his swords. He knew the voice and his heart began to flutter like a caged bird trying the restrains of its confinement, beating and palpitating, skipping every fourth or fifth beat to show him how important that voice was to him.

‘Yes, my little flower, I know,’ the soothing voice chuckled in his head, ‘you are special because of your love for this wolf. I felt it when I first met you and I can feel it now. You love him so much you don’t know how to show him.’

There were footsteps that approached them, the song of a sword being drawn and a chuckle as Jaskier tried to follow everything he could not see just by listening. Veles stroked through his hair with a hand, calm and without worry, even as Geralt approached.

‘Now, my wolf,’ the voice, light as bells asked, ‘silver or steel for a god, what do you reckon?’

‘Let him go,’ Geralt growled again, ‘or you will find out.’

‘Always so forward when it’s about your bard,’ the chuckle wafted between them, cool fingertips wandering over Jaskier’s eyelids, following the bones around the sockets and cheeks, leading towards the lips, ‘I can smell your jealousy, Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf of my pack. You are so protective of him, why don’t you allow yourself this comfort?’

‘I have no use for comfortable luxury.’

‘But that is where you are mistaken, my wolf,’ Veles gently laid Jaskier down in the grass, pillowing his head on a plush turf, ‘companionship is not a luxury. They taught you that you can trust your own, but is Jaskier not one of mine as much as you are? Wolves and bards, pastures and magic, I call them all my own.’

‘Why though? Why him and why – why –‘

Jaskier felt something shift around him. The kernel of chaos in his soul reared up in hunger, devouring the newly kindled magic it had been entwined with. Veles’s laughter poured over him.

‘Come, little flower, join us again.’

Jaskier felt his fingertips wander over his eyelids once again and then, as he wanted to open them, lips pressed to his, tasting of a sweet spring day and an adventure long lost, mourned and replaced by happier memories. The kiss did not last long but it reminded Jaskier of others like it, shared in the alley behind a tavern in Oxenfort, whispered in the gap between two men rushing to take their clothes off, desperate contact in a search for something. It had been a promise, Jaskier realised with a soft gasp that Veles used without mercy, slipping his tongue into Jaskier’s mouth.

It ended as soon as it had begun. Veles smirked at him, pushing a strand of hair out of his eyes before slipping away from him, eyes now displaying the depth of the sea, bottomless hunger but unable to reach what it desired. Jaskier held his breath, waiting for something to happen, for a sword to strike out of the sky or the wrath of the gods to hit him.

‘Go, my flower,’ Veles helped him up, ‘he is waiting.’

Jaskier looked around, searching for Geralt’s eyes. He found them, burning with a temper and anger that would have any mortal man tremble. Veles, however, laughed and it sounded like a wolf.

An arm stretched out to hold Jaskier close, bring him to safety behind a wide back, all the while holding out the sword. Geralt did not trust Veles and Jaskier, too confused and flustered to say anything, stepped behind his Witcher.

‘You still have so many questions,’ Veles sat down where Jaskier had lain, ‘oh, so many questions, my wolf.’

Geralt snarled in response. Jaskier let his hand come to his front, hand slipping around his wrist. The Witcher turned, met his gaze and held it, diving into it with the desperation of a drowning man. A moment hung between them, then, the sword was lowered to the ground. Jaskier knew he was no less alert but had decided to yield to his silent request.

Veles hummed under his breath, nodding into the soft ground, ‘You, my wolf, have endured so much, so much pain and disappointment, how could I not look out for you? And you, my flower, you bard amongst absonant birds, using your talent to help and influence where prejudice feasts. How could I not be intrigued? I needed to see for myself, find out about the man so unafraid of the wolf whose maw his head is placed inside of.’

‘You gave him chaos,’ Geralt snarled, ‘why would you do that?’

‘Have you ever travelled with a Witcher?’

The question seemed to take Geralt by surprise. His hand tightened around Jaskier’s in a display of possessiveness.

‘Oh wolf,’ Veles sighed, ‘so many dangers, everything fatal to a human by your side. You have thought about it so much, my wolf, every thought a thorn, a splitter in your flesh.’

‘I tell him to stay back.’

‘And by now, you know he doesn’t listen,’ Veles cocked his head, seeming younger than before, ‘he doesn’t listen, my wolf, and he has a reason.’

‘Stories.’

‘Concern,’ Jaskier piped up behind his back, feeling the need to right him, ‘I can’t bear the thought of you bleeding out somewhere by yourself because you didn’t get back to Roach in time to take Swallow.’

‘Jaskier –‘ Geralt began to say but did not finish.

‘A grain of chaos, words spun into a weapon, into healing, into a bit of help, my flower, do you understand why I gave you this gift? You won’t be left behind, you follow a Witcher around the continent and your hands are better equipped to craft melodies than to carry a blade – I could not risk your bright light be extinguished by your determination to stay at your wolf’s side.’

Jaskier saw the twinkle in his eyes. He pressed himself against Geralt, relying on his strength to keep them both upright.

‘I hurt a man.’

‘You hurt more than one, little flower,’ Veles chuckled, ‘but didn’t they all deserve it? Criticising your music? Laughing about your rhymes?’

‘No,’ Jaskier shook his head, ‘I didn’t use the chaos after we left Vizima.’

‘Oh, you tried,’ the god let his fingers glide over a few flowers that looked a little wilted, leaving them behind refreshed and once again blooming, ‘but all these sorceresses can do is nothing against your instincts. Children coming home to see their parents forgot to hide the pot of honey, girls finding their sweetheart especially charming, fathers finding they can afford something nice for the children after a successful trade. You sing, my flower, and your music carries your intention as much as your words.’

Geralt snarled again, grasping his sword again, ‘You speak of a gift but once you are taking it back, grow bored with us as your new playthings, I won’t wait for a god to tell me to let go of him. I am here to find out your reasons and to decide whether I trust you.’

‘My wolf, I expected nothing else from you,’ Veles’s voice was nothing but a purr, warm and affectionate, ‘after all, you care about him in so many ways it leaves you confused. I asked you why you didn’t allow yourself a little comfort, why you don’t accept what he is offering.’

‘We don’t owe you any explanations,’ Geralt said stiffly.

Jaskier wanted to protest, wanted to ask him what Veles meant. Geralt’s fingers around his hand were pale, claw-like in their attempt to keep their hold.

‘You, my wolf, are too stubborn to see what you already have, and you, my flower, have taken to hiding. No, I cannot let you continue like this. My gift is permanent, it cannot be removed, neither the first of chaos tied to words and music nor the second.’

‘A second gift?’ Geralt frowned.

‘A second gift, for there is something about that bard you should try, my wolf, try it and keep at it forever.’

‘What do you mean?’

Gods could not blush, or at least, Jaskier had believed them incapable of such mortal displays. Veles, however, sported the rosy dusting of a blush, letting the moment stretch, a smirk on his lips as he leaned over, teasing Geralt with his look.

‘Not only is your bard a wonderful singer who could move a stone to tears, not only does he hide his songs about his Witcher in the manifold dresses of love ditties, no, he is also quite the accomplished lover,’ Veles sat up, his hands coming to rest on the lush grass, ‘you should hold onto him, now that he is to live alongside your long years without the struggle of mortal worry and age. Use my gifts well, my wolf, they are to be savoured.’

Jaskier did not quite understand what he meant but Geralt stiffened next to him, his hand coming to reach around his waist. His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of his abdomen, pulling the bard even closer.

‘What did you do?’

‘Not much, aligned his life expectancy with yours,’ Veles smiled at them, a hint of teeth behind red lips, ‘you don’t have to thank me.’

‘You made me immortal?’ Jaskier could feel Geralt tense again, as if he wanted to chip in and his hand found the fingers digging deep into the cloth of his doublet.

‘Not immortal, my flower, no,’ the god sounded amused, ‘although, it would be fun to see you deal with that. No, I am not cruel, and immortality is that. Cruelty. You will live longer, my flower, that I can promise you, longer than anyone you know, any mortal you know. You will fill this continent with songs and ballads that will be known beyond the mountains and seas and they will speak of you as the god’s favourite.’

‘How long does your favour last?’ Geralt snarled, ‘the gods rarely stay entertained by a human for long and I will not suffer another minor god with flippant moods.’

Veles laughed at him, deep and low, more of a rumble, ‘Other gods, my wolf, may disappoint you in their interest. I don’t pride myself in the attention mine have but I will not disappoint you.’

Jaskier tried to find a trace of hidden intentions in Veles’s expression, beyond the cover of the too young face. His eyes were still and calm, in contrast to the laughter on his lips. They were open and honest, Jaskier thought as he tried to reassure Geralt that it was alright.

‘Geralt,’ he turned to look at him, trusting him to keep an eye on the god in front of them, ‘you said you wanted to find out, you did, and I think we have out answer now. Can we leave?’

The sun around them dimmed a little, the birds quieted down and the wind stroked through his hair softly. Veles looked at him, head lowered. He wove patterns into the air between them whilst watching him. Jaskier could feel the chaos reach out, take a hold of him and press into his ribcage. He could feel Geralt press against him, almost cradle him in his arms in an attempt to shield him from it.

‘Let me show you something, my wolf,’ Veles inclined his head, ‘for your bard is a delicate one behind the quips and songs.’

Jaskier could feel him draw out a memory out of his mind, one he guarded and protected, that he revisited and cherished. He whimpered when he felt it split from his subconscious. Veles caressed him with a warm palm.

‘Don’t worry, my flower, he’ll understand.’

Geralt’s eyes glazed over a moment later, his hold on Jaskier loosened a little and his mouth flattened out of the frown he had kept. Veles placed a finger on his lips, giving Jaskier a wink.

Jaskier felt his heart sink. The memory he showed Geralt was years old.


	9. The Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I recommend giving [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q7622RQnfSA) a listen to get a feeling for the atmosphere ;)

_They had met in a small village at the bottom of the Kestrel Mountains, between the borders of Redania and Kaedwen. It had been one of the first warm days of spring on which the sun had won its battle against the cold winds coming from the mountains, and they had joined each other’s path again after wintering in different parts of the continent. The Witcher had come back down from Kaer Morhen and the bard over from Oxenfurt after finishing a lecture series he had promised to give on the use of the bestiary in song. Geralt had finished his contract successfully and Jaskier had been offered to earn them some extra coin with the new songs once the landlord heard that he had written new songs over the winter. Some of them were full of longing, asking for a faraway love to join him during lonely nights, others full of hope and some that encouraged the audience to join in, sing along, clap or dance. He enjoyed it to flaunt and show off, flirt with the girls blossoming anew in spring and tease the boys full of sap who tried to land with either the girls or him._

_Geralt sat in a corner, a tankard in front of him and watched him perform. Even if he did not listen to the thinly veiled serenades to the Witcher, he seemed to enjoy something about the display Jaskier put on. He smiled into his tankard, hiding the upturned corners of his mouth to everybody but Jaskier who could read his tells like the books and winked at him, finishing another song about a young man who left his love with blue balls and unsatisfied urges after having received a task to solve first._

_‘What, dear people of this beautiful village, can I play to add to your splendid mood tonight? A jig? A reel to get the feet dancing? An epic tale of heroics and adventures to get the blood flowing and the women open to advances?’_

_Cheers erupted from the crowd, tankards were lifted into the air and a few women yelped as their husbands smacked their backsides. The tavern was filled with rambunctious laughter and wolf whistles, Jaskier bent down and grabbed a tankard of ale that he had been given to refresh himself with every now and then. Taking in the picture of people relieved to the darkness of long winter months and enjoying life to the fullest again, he took a gulp and washed his throat with it. He lifted the tankard in greeting to those who extended theirs towards him and drank with them for a moment between songs, taking his time to get his breath back._

_He felt a hand tug on the hem of his spring green doublet, a new one he had brought along from the city, complementing the season. A small girl looked up at him, her big, blue eyes filled with something between awe and hesitance. Jaskier gave her an encouraging smile and squatted in front of her to get onto something resembling eyelevel._

_‘Greetings, young miss, do you have a request?’_

_‘I would like something to dance, please, Mr Bard.’_

_Jaskier carefully furrowed his brow, making a funny face to entertain her as he went through all the melodies in his head, ‘Something to dance, hm? Let me think…’_

_He carefully set the lute down on the table in front of Geralt, ignoring the confused look he got from the Witcher. Instead, he scooped the girl up and onto his hip, holding her with his arms around her tiny body._

_‘I will be in need of your help, young lady,’ he grinned, ‘want to clap along with me?’_

_He began to stomp out a beat and got her to clap along, nodding his head in time. It was one of his own songs, a well-known tune he had written for a celebration in Oxenfurt, a praise of life and love in the country, one that had come to great renown. The little girl in his arm grinned, showing off a tooth gap. She clapped along excitedly to his stomping and humming, beaming with joy and giggling as Jaskier began to launch into the first stanza of the song._

_Ho, ro, the rattlin' bog,_

_The bog down in the valley-o._

_Real Bog, the rattlin' bog,_

_The bog down in the valley-o._

_Well in the bog there was a hole,_

_A rare hole and a rattlin' hole,_

_And the hole in the bog,_

_And the bog down in the valley-o._

_Ho, ro, the rattlin' bog,_

_The bog down in the valley-o._

_Real Bog, the rattlin' bog,_

_The bog down in the valley-o._

_Well in that hole there was a tree,_

_A rare tree and a rattlin' tree,_

_And the tree in the hole,_

_And the hole in the bog,_

_And the bog down in the valley-o._

_It was a great song that gathered both speed and verses as it went along. Jaskier sang and pulled faces for the girl who laughed and clapped and danced through the room on his hip as he twirled and whirled them around the public room, between tables and chairs still occupied by people. More stanzas grew out of the intent to add yet another tiny thing that could prove just how fast and long Jaskier could go without fumbling for words, without getting mixed up or without running out of breath. It had been fun in Oxenfurt to sing the song as fast and with as many additions as possible to show off to fellow students, despite the many other ways he could have had at his disposal to show off for how long he could hold his breath. He had used several of them in the near privacy of back alleys and his dorm._

_Here, in a tiny village far from the Academy, it did not mean anything but entertainment to the people who had come in for a drink after a long, hard day on the fields, tilling and sowing. They knew the tune well enough and joined in the clapping and stomping as he danced, whirling around amongst them. He sang the stanzas with increasing speed, felt each word challenge his winter-rested voice, let them drip off his tongue like honey and got them out into the open without problems. The girl on his arm evidently knew the song, too and tried to keep up with him whilst keeping time with her clapping. She was talented, Jaskier could tell as much and gifted her a laugh at that._

_Jaskier heard the tavern join in for the chorus, more and more men and women alike knocking on the tables, clapping, stomping and dancing alongside him with every line. The room grew louder and livelier the faster Jaskier got in his attempt to make himself pass out to satisfy the little girl’s request. He felt his shoulder knock into other people, a few beams and his hip connected with a few wooden table corners but continued through his room, spun his tale in the song until he could think no further. With great flourish and some stylistic devices, he finished the last stanza and chorus._

_Now, on the hair, there was a flea._

_A rare flea. A rattlin' flea._

_A flea on the hair._

_And a hair on the head._

_And a head on the beast._

_And a beast on the feather._

_And the feather on the bird._

_And the bird in the egg._

_And the egg in the nest._

_And the nest on the leaf._

_And the leaf on the twig._

_And the twig on the branch._

_And the branch on the limb._

_And the limb on the bough._

_And the bough on the tree._

_And the tree in the bog._

_And the bog down in the valley-o._

_Ho-ro the rattlin bog._

_The bog down in the valley-o._

_Ho-ro the rattlin bog._

_The bog down in the valley-o._

_The tavern erupted in cheers and clapping as he finished off the song with a stomp and a cry. The people raised their arms and tankards to him again before draining them, all in need of a drink after the chaotic dance and ecstasy they had been in. Jaskier set the girl down to the ground and bowed to her, courtly manners providing either a comic or a playful disposition. The girl giggled openly, showing off her tooth gap again before hugging him tightly with a ‘Thank you,’ eyes sparkling with joy and cheeks heated before she dashed off towards a corner in the back where a young couple waited for her with open arms. He watched as his small dance partner got hugged and spoiled with small touches. The young man who, judging by the blue eyes matching the girl’s, was her father looked up and met his gaze, nodding in a thankful bow, as if to acknowledge him indulging her. Then, he turned back around and returned his attention to his wife and child. They seemed happy as well, fitting into the tavern so well._

_Jaskier went back to the corner where he had sung and performed, one of the few spaces without tables and chairs and fetched his last belongings, his cloak, drink and smaller things he had left on the side. The patrons noticed him packing up and a few voices demanding more songs grew louder. He turned over his shoulder and laughed, chuckled at the open disappointment in some faces around him._

_‘Begging your pardon, but I seem to have stressed my voice for good,’ he winked at a young woman who seemed especially upset, remembering her dancing along wildly a moment ago, ‘I have played for you, I have sung for you. There is little more I can add to your night, the rest is up to you. Go with your sweetheart and celebrate the new life in the best way imaginable, make each other feel good and worship lust and fertility! This is my decree on you, dear people, and in this, do not forget to pay the man too parched to utter another note, the bard Jaskier!’_

_Applause arose, women fanned their heated faces and dug in their pouches, men tossed coins at him, piling them onto the ones that had already been thrown during his earlier performance. Jaskier bowed again and gathered them together, stuffing them into his own purse._

_‘Thank you, good people, thank you! I have been Jaskier, just to remind you what to call the children born nine months from now – I will take full credit for any pleasure you experience tonight,’ he grinned at a young man who seemed to blush, standing uncomfortably turned away from him._

_Jaskier noticed the woman pressed up to him, face hidden in his shoulder. Her arm wrapped around him and her hand disappeared under the waistband of his trousers. The bard winked at him and allowed himself to make an approving gesture at the man who all of a sudden seemed to be in a hurry to get out of the tavern. Jaskier grinned to himself, all too familiar with the strain it put on both spirit and breeches to stay in a state of arousal for a prolonged stretch of time._

_He turned around to re-join Geralt at his table where he had sat eating what the landlord had offered for dinner. Jaskier had begged him to save at least the end crust of the bread he had been given. Geralt, of course, had only grunted. The sight awaiting him when he approached the table knocked the remaining air out of his lungs._

_Geralt had set down his empty tankard, a smile on his lips that was open for everybody around to see. He sat with his feet on the chair opposite from him under the table, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the bard weave through the people between them. In front of him, on the otherwise empty plate, sat half a loaf of bread, an apple and a piece of cheese._

_‘Finished?’ Geralt pushed the plate towards him, the smile still on his lips, ‘that last song was one of yours?’_

_‘Yes,’ Jaskier dropped on the chair Geralt took his feet off, still a little out of breath from dancing and singing, allowing himself to gasp a little, ‘why?’_

_‘I heard it a few times,’ Geralt waved to the landlord for another tankard of beer, ‘didn’t know it’s one of yours. It’s nice.’_

_Jaskier dug into his dinner, listening as the tavern went back to conversations and the humming of people’s conversations. He watched Geralt relax again in his seat, eyes closed, yet still listening to every sound. His expression still bore a softness Jaskier had come to associate with early spring, when Geralt came back from time spent with his pack and he seemed untroubled for once._

_Jaskier liked seeing his Witcher like that. It reminded him of the softness hidden within the man, the caring soul that was so heavily guarded. The smile on his lips made him look better than ever and Jaskier relished in seeing it, knowing how warm it made him feel. He saw him as he was, in that moment, a man younger than he seemed, so carefully pretending not to feel anything that he had started to believe it himself. He had cracked the shell many a time, paying for his troubles whenever he did, but discovering it was worth it. He saw the essence, the very core of what Geralt was and he had begun to understand what it meant to know him._

_When he looked at Geralt, he saw something worth everything. When he looked at Geralt, he saw everything he loved._


	10. Chapter 10

Jaskier felt the memory come back to him, embedding itself in his mind. Veles sat back on his heels and smiled at him, a twinkle of starlight in his eyes. The sun was warm again on his skin again and only the crackling chaos between them made his hair stand on end.

‘Why?’ Jaskier hastily grabbed Geralt’s arm as he came back to, swaying a little, to hold him, ‘Why did you show him that one?’

‘My flower,’ Veles nodded, ‘that moment defines who you are. He knew, deep down but didn’t understand why. I merely showed him your point of view on something he could not piece together.’

Jaskier felt Geralt’s searching hand on his thigh and turned around to face him. His eyes were a little disoriented and raked over his face, following the laughter lines with the fingertips of his other hand.

‘Jaskier,’ he breathed, soft tune making his skin crawl, ‘I remember that day. You looked so happy with that little girl on your hip, singing and dancing for that village. They loved you. Drank up every melody you gave them and when you sang that tune, there was no one who didn’t sing along.’

‘What about you?’ Jaskier asked softly, hand finding Geralt’s. His eyes were a little disoriented, without doubt a result of the state he had been in.

‘Everybody,’ Geralt reiterated quietly, ‘no one can be still when you sing. Your voice was magic long before you learned to use it to defend yourself with chaos. Your songs have captured your audiences without being infused with chaos before, you didn’t need that to be something more.’

‘Geralt,’ he whispered, voice cracking, ‘I’ll be able to help you properly from now on. I won’t be a nuisance to you anymore, I won’t be a dead weight to be lugged around you, no longer a burden, your responsibility to protect and keep.’

‘You never were,’ Geralt leaned his forehead against Jaskier’s, ‘you never were a nuisance, never a burden.’

Jaskier closed his eyes, breathing in shakily as he allowed himself to rest against him. The effects of being a guest in Jaskier’s memory were still tangible in Geralt’s words, the way he said things that he would not have said if his awareness were not still tainted with Jaskier’s mind. The air between them was warm and charged, filled with a promise neither of them wanted to voice.

‘My dear flower,’ Veles’ voice rang through the air, ‘dearest flower.’

‘My lord,’ Jaskier turned half-way around and faced him, making sure to keep his hand in Geralt’s, ‘how can I be of service?’

‘Will you sing for me? Just this once, before you return onto your path,’ he followed the outline of a buttercup blossom on the pasture, ‘one song for the road, so to speak.’

Jaskier exchanged a look with Geralt who seemed to have schooled his face back into the mask that did not give away any of his thoughts. He took his lute, carefully plucked the strings before tuning them and strumming a few chords. He tested the sound of the melody, playing a few bars and sounding out the words in his head at first before singing them out loud.

_I went up to the highest hill to see_

_If I could see the man of the wind_

_Will you come tonight or will you come tomorrow?_

_Or if you do not come at all, it’s sad I’ll be_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_A hundred thousand welcomes everywhere you go_

_My heart is bruised and broken_

_And tears flow from my eyes_

_Will you come today or will I expect you?_

_Or will I close the door with a tired sigh?_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_A hundred thousand welcomes everywhere you go_

_My love promised me a dress of silk_

_He promised me that and a cloak to warm me_

_A gold ring where I’d see my image_

_But I’m afraid he has forgotten_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_A hundred thousand welcomes everywhere you go_

_My heart is lifting_

_Not for the fiddler or the harper_

_But for the lone man on the wind_

_For if you don’t come home, it’s sad I’ll be_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_Oh man of the wind and no one else_

_A hundred thousand welcomes everywhere you go_

He had carried the song with him, had tweaked it, included explicit, raunchy details – and had hated it. So he had cut them out again. There were some things, he told himself, that had no place out in the open. The final version of the song had turned into something prayerful, unsure between adoration and lament. It had felt like the right thing to do, change the whole song from the voyeuristic view it had started as into his own experience, turn it into a song about love possessed and lost, about the love held for someone else whilst he sought out the warmth of another’s embrace to distract him.

The new version was dear to his heart, carrying with it the heavy weight of a heart searching for his love. Geralt had been on his mind, he always was, after all. Even when he had not yet been able to name the way his heart seemed to contract whenever he caught the slither of a smile on his friend’s face, when the warmth bubbling in his stomach had been a riddle without answer and when he had not had an explanation for the way his words turned into nonsense when Geralt looked at him in a particular way, it had always been there. He still had no word to describe it and was not sure whether a single word could ever be enough.

When he looked up from the lute in his lap, fingers still resting against the strings, halting the last note before it grew too loud for the melody, two pairs of eyes rested on him. Veles’ seemed to flow over with pride and adoration, chasing the tune before it rang out between the bird song and lapping of the brook against its banks. The glamour on his face, still obscuring the divine face he bore, was blurred around the edges, as if he did no longer possess the concentration to keep it in place completely. Geralt, on the other hand, looked at him with raw, unshielded emotion, even after the unfeeling mask was back in place. His amber eyes seemed almost human in their expression, their focus solely on Jaskier, as if having come to an understanding he had not yet been able to process.

Jaskier still held onto the lute neck when Geralt’s soft gaze broke and he pushed himself onto his feet, eyes flickering over him and Veles. For a moment, the thought crossed his mind that Geralt would just leave, having witnessed his own imagine of their relationship.

‘Geralt?’

‘I’ll wait with Roach. Come find me if you want to,’ he placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it cautiously, ‘thank you, Jaskier.’

‘Tha – for what, exactly?’

Geralt only gave him a wistful smile before turning to the god who met his gaze expectantly from his seat in the grass, ‘I’m sure you won’t cross us again.’

‘How could I cross a Witcher, my wolf? The gods look down on you favourably.’

‘The gods don’t look down on Witchers with anything but hate. We are living proof of their insufficiency.’

‘I take it you have talked to a lot of gods, then? Geralt of Rivia, the sceptic. You truly are one of mine,’ Veles winked at him, the youthful mask firmly back in place, ‘and none of mine will go without my favour. Don’t worry, our paths will not cross again.’

Geralt disappeared behind the boulders making up the border around the pasture, leaving Jaskier to sit with the god. Veles played with a few blossoms to his feet, making them brighter in colour.

‘He is a serious man.’

‘That he is,’ Jaskier put the lute back into its case, ‘I think he doesn’t like to think that the gods let man create Witchers.’

‘They were needed,’ Veles sighed, ‘a dark truth. Of course, being of magic, music and pastures, I was not as involved as others but that doesn’t rectify the cruelty he has experienced – he is a good man.’

‘I know that,’ Jaskier pushed his lower lip out defiantly, ‘he is the best man out there. The very best. He is the hero no one sees, the strength of mankind that no one knows. Without him and his brothers, mankind would face dire times and not know what to do about it. For all his harsh words and surliness he really is a good friend.’

‘And a caring man,’ Veles nodded, no mischief left in his eyes, ‘make the most out of my favour, my flower. You don’t need gods to pave your way, go with your Witcher and ease the burden of his Path.’

‘Mylord,’ Jaskier bowed his head, ‘I can only thank you for the gift you bestowed onto me. I will sing your praises throughout the lands with these, my melodies.’

‘Sing about the life you lead, my flower,’ Veles smiled, ‘you will have a long time to sing your Witcher’s praises. Maybe, you’ll even get to branch out on the topics, once he gathers himself. With what a skilled paramour you are, he really ought to try it.’

Veles let his palm rest against Jaskier’s cheek that reddened a little with the implications of the comment, ‘Thank you for the song and the chance to meet you, not once but twice. I thank you for the night spent with the greatest worship any god could enjoy, and I thank you for showing me that there is something not quite divine in you humans that clings to life and being.’

Jaskier lowered his head in another bow, ‘Mylord, I have to thank you. Thank you for the generous gift you have bestowed upon me. I shall make sure to use it to the best of my abilities.’

He had almost reached the stone border around the grove when he had another thought and turned back around, ‘Veles?’

‘Yes, my flower?’

‘When you say “ease his Path” –‘

‘I mean for you to show him what there is out there for him, that not all see him as a monster,’ the god seemed old, all of a sudden, the youthful mask nowhere to be seen, ‘my wolfs wander alone but it doesn’t need to be like that. He needs someone to show him, though.’

Jaskier nodded a curt agreement, thinking back to the townhouse in Vizima and Yennefer who had seemed comfortable at Triss’ place. He turned around with the finality of a man who knew he would never turn back to this moment.

Geralt did in fact wait for him, Roach’s reins in his hands. Jaskier fell into step with him and they turned into the other direction, starting to walk back the same way they had come. They stayed silent, both caught up in their own thoughts about what had happened after they left the path. Even the songs usually spilling from Jaskier’s lips seemed to have dried out, much like the landscapes around them. He knew songs, of course, but nothing he had written seemed fit for the situation. Whatever the situation was, with Veles left behind in his pastures, without doubt continuing to look out for the elves of Dol Blathanna, it already seemed out of reach for Jaskier.

Geralt walked next to him, head lowered and whispering to Roach. He seemed in thoughts as much as Jaskier but on his face, it showed in a deep-set scowl.

‘Geralt –‘ He began and cut himself off, realising that he did not know what to say next.

The Witcher still lifted his gaze from the dusty path in front of their feet. He looked at him, questioning eyes searching his expression. Jaskier just shook his head softly and continued onwards.

***

The silence between them lasted for a few days, with grunts and pointed fingers remaining their only means of communication. They made camp, Geralt hunted, Jaskier cared for Roach, set up their bedrolls and made sure the meat Geralt brought back was cooked properly. It was almost as if they fell back into a routine.

Only when the first green hills and meadows appeared on the horizon and they entered back into Temeria did Geralt make a decision that he shared with him. Jaskier could pinpoint the moment he had finished his thought process, jaw setting, muscles twitching and gloves tightening around the reins. He stopped in the middle of the road, turned around and closed his finger around Jaskier’s wrist with enough force to make him trip.

‘This needs to stop,’ he grunted, ‘we can’t go back into civilisation without talking –‘

‘We have been talking a lot, recently,’ Jaskier shrugged his hand off, ‘doesn’t seem to have taken us a single step closer to actually coming to an understanding. All this, meeting a god, talking to Veles, getting an answer, what did you expect to happen?’

He waved his arms around, growing increasingly more agitated and louder, ‘I’ve had it with you talking big words, you know? We went to Dol Blathanna because you didn’t trust this whole thing, and now? I still have chaos inside me, I even got more years out of it, and now? What is the plan, now that we have settled, once and for all, that all that happened was a horny god who wanted to wet his dick with a mortal? What are we doing? What am I supposed to do?’

Something was tightly wound beneath his skin that reared up and made him burst out with something he was not sure he wanted Geralt to hear but it burned under his skin. He scratched at his skin, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up towards the elbows and dug his nails in. The skin turned red and irritated under his fingers but the pain ringing through his nerves grounded him again and stopped him from yelling more of his thoughts into the air.

‘You want to talk? Let’s talk,’ he felt the blood seep under his fingernails, ‘I am going to continue the Path alongside you, I am going to help you. With the chaos in my words and music, I will be able to support you, to fight by your side, to be of worth for you!’

‘Jaskier, you –‘ Geralt shook his head and grabbed Roach’s reins, ‘we’re going to make camp here, in the woods. It’s easy enough to find a spot around these parts. The talking can wait until after we have found a place to settle into for the night.’

He disappeared into the bushes and pulled Roach along. Jaskier followed him a moment and a deep breath later, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Geralt had already found a soft, mossy bank to rest on for the night, Roach nuzzled through the grass on the sides and found her own meal. He had taken saddle and tack off Roach, too and propped them up behind his bedroll.

‘I was going to gather firewood in a moment,’ he grunted, ‘you can take all the time you need.’

Jaskier set his bag down and shook his head, ‘I can get firewood. You’re more adept with traps and hunting gear, after all.’

‘Leave Roach in charge of our belongings?’

‘She can cope,’ Jaskier shrugged the doublet off that he had worn open over his shirt, ‘the precious thing has probably fended off more fiends than both of us combined.’

As he walked past Geralt into the woods he could have sworn the Witcher wore a fond smile on his face. Of course, complimenting his horse would have that effect.

He was lucky to find firewood quickly enough and returned to their clearing with both arms full of dry branches and twigs to kindle a first flame to life. Geralt was not yet back but he managed to build their campfire easily enough, years of practise coming in handy. The slight crackling sound of flames licking into the logs he piled onto the fire, the lazy birdsong of the last songbirds tweeting in the trees and Roach’s quiet huffing blended together into the natural backdrop he had learned to love more than the busy noise of taverns and town squares. It was calming work to set up camp, rolling out the blankets for their beds, cleaning Roach’s saddle to prevent her from developing sores and aches and packing his own belongings into a tight bundle that he could use as a pillow. He had done it often enough to know exactly which of his shirts to use on the outside and which harder fabrics to build in for stability at the core.

He sat next to the fire and sharpened the lesser blades Geralt had left behind at their camp. The daggers felt true in his hands after a few years of practice with them. He had learned his own fair share of tricks with short knives and blades and gotten around to using them in a few scrapes and alley fights. Once or twice, he had even managed throwing one and hitting the target. He weighed the dagger in his hand and eyed a tree trunk at the edge of the clearing.

The dagger left his hand and found its mark, embedding itself deep into the bark. It was a good throw, a good, well-aimed hurl of the newly sharpened blade. It also landed only a few inches away from Geralt’s leg as he stepped out of the trees.

‘Oh bollocks,’ Jaskier gasped, ‘sorry, I did definitely not plan to nearly skewer you!’

‘I didn’t think you were,’ Geralt pulled the dagger free and set down a couple of rabbits next to the fireplace, checking the blade before using it to skin the animals, ‘good throw. When did you learn to –‘

‘Picked it up on the road at some point,’ Jaskier watched him get to the process of preparing the meat for their dinner, ‘it felt like something that might be useful whenever I found myself on the road by myself. So much harder to steal a bard’s hard earned coin when he’s stabbing you.’

‘A true hero of the roads,’ Geralt huffed but his lips tugged upwards, ‘it’s good that you can defend yourself, chaos or not. It’s good to know.’

Jaskier nodded, ‘I can take care of myself.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘Sounded like it though,’ Jaskier poked the embers with a stick, ‘why else were you so insistent we went to find Veles? I learned how to use the chaos he gave me, I learned how to utilise it. I’m no longer a burden to you, I can actually do something, if only give you a moment to gather yourself. We could work together.’

‘You are no Witcher.’

‘No, but I am an immortal bard with a gift of the gods.’

‘God.’

‘Doesn’t matter, I have chaos and more years than any other human by now,’ Jaskier stabbed an especially stubborn piece of ember to splinters before looking up at Geralt, ‘he told me to ease your path. You’re not getting rid of me now.’

The Witcher looked bewildered for a mere moment before softly shaking his head, ‘I wouldn’t get rid of you.’

‘Who knows what goes on in that thick head of yours,’ Jaskier shrugged, ‘could be you think I’m still too fragile for what you do. Yes, I can’t hold a sword to save my life and I’m no use when it comes to potions but I know which ingredients they need and which one helps you in certain situations, I know how to sew a wound without getting those horrifying scars, I can feed Roach without losing my toes and fingertips and I can convince at least half of the aldermen who try to snub you otherwise, all without chaos. I’d say that’s at least four damn good reasons to keep me.’

‘One.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I need but one reason to keep you,’ Geralt mumbled, conflict written plainly in his expression.

‘Which would be?’

‘It’s you.’

Jaskier stared at him, unable to follow his line of thought. Geralt met his gaze and for once, it remained on him, steady and stern, as if he could disappear out of sight from one moment to the next. His hands still fumbled with the rabbits but he did not watch the knife working on them, rather, he kept his eyes directed at him and watched the nervous twitches of his hands.

‘Me.’

‘You.’

Jaskier twiddled his thumbs and tugged on the straps of his lute case, ‘What do you mean?’

‘You can follow me on the Path,’ Geralt said softly, ‘I won’t – I can’t promise it’ll be easier for me but I can try. You will have to manage some patience with me, it will take some time for me to get used to it.’

Jaskier nodded, ‘I understand. I can still stand back a little, if it would help you ignore that I am now there as well.’

‘No, that’s not it,’ Geralt pulled a face, ‘you can be there. I’ll learn not to worry.’

‘Worry?’ Jaskier was aware that he did little but repeat what the Witcher had said back at him but he could not understand why he would use that word when it came to him, ‘is this when you tell me we are friends, after all?’

‘Friends? No, that word is not enough,’ Geralt’s face smoothed over, he seemed to search for words he could say that would explain everything but stopped short of emitting a sound.

Rough hands dropped the rabbits, wiped themselves clean on his breeches and pointed at the lute case, ‘Play.’

‘What?’

‘Please. I can – I can think and speak more clearly when you play. It helps.’

‘Any preferences?’ Jaskier got the lute out and tuned her carefully, voice calm and soothing.

‘Anything, nothing about slaying monsters,’ Geralt sounded almost sheepish, as if voicing a request threatened to lose him his thoughts, ‘something uplifting.’

Jaskier knew uplifting songs, he knew melodies that made men slap their thighs in time and had the young women dance around the square under equinox and solstice. He knew the songs that made everyone join in and he knew which ones to play when he wanted to call in a favour. There were Elder songs that were old enough to run in mankind’s blood as well, known to them through the ages, that would not arouse bad tempers even in Cintra.

He settled his lute in his lap and plucked a few strings, trying their sound and mood. His fingers found a melody and picked it up, formed it in his head before he played it. It was an Elder song, translated rather lazily and he had once written a better one at Oxenfurt that had made its way around the continent, somehow, including a few words in Elder there was no equivalent to be found for. Uplifting would not have been what he would have described it as but it was soft enough to provide a backdrop for Geralt’s thoughts.

_Who will you send with me to herd the cows?_

_Yes, herd the cows, yes herd the cows_

_Who will you send with me to herd the cows?_

_With a dúlsaí dolsái daéireó_

_What will you give me to know his name?_

_Yes, know his name, yes know his name_

_What will you give me to know his name?_

_With a dúlsaí dolsái daéireó_

_I will get you a hat to know his name_

_Yes, know his name, yes, know his name_

_I will get you a hat to know his name_

_With a dúlsaí dolsái daéireó_

_That is not enough to give you his name_

_Yes, give you his name, yes give you his name_

_That is not enough to give you his name_

_With a dúlsaí dolsái daéireó_

_I’ll get you the best horse to know his name_

_To know his name, to know his name_

_I’ll get you the best horse to know his name_

_With a dúlsaí dolsái daéireó_

_That is not enough to say his name_

_To say his name, to say his name_

_That is not enough to say his name_

_With a dúlsaí dolsái daéireó_

_I’ll give you the mountains full of life_

_Yes, full of life, yes full of life_

_I’ll give you the mountains full of life_

_With a dúlsaí dolsái daéireó_

_It’s Ailmon an Brenna, the fine young boy_

_The fine young boy, the fine young boy_

_It’s Ailmon an Brenna, the fine young boy_

_With a dúlsaí dolsái daéireó_

_It’s Ailmon an Brenna, it’s he my love_

_It’s he my love, it’s he my love_

_It’s Ailmon an Brenna, it’s he my love_

_With a dúlsaí dolsái daéireó_


	11. Chapter 11

Whilst he sang, quietly and more to himself than for the world to hear, Geralt cleared his throat and began, ‘I can’t help but see you as a human, Jaskier. You are, after all. Human, that is. I worry because I know how easily you would break and get hurt. You tend to dismiss any warnings I give you and rush into danger without a second thought. Even with the chaos you have, you still are very likely to get injured. Healing others with your words and music, casting some sort of bane on an enemy – that’s all fair and you will be a great help, you are already so much of a help by being you, and playing like the elves.’

He put the rabbits on the spit and propped them up above the fire, ‘Of course I worry, I have travelled long and far enough, with you by my side to know the small things about you. I know you love everybody else like no one you shared your bed with ever could love you. I know how to look after your lute as much as you know where I keep the whetstone and how to brew my potions. We have travelled for an amount of time that would be equal to settling down with a family for most humans and yet, you are still here with me. For the longest time, I thought I kept you from finding your purpose in life when our lives did not permit for you to find a person to start a family with. Every time you went with someone in an inn, in a tavern, in alley ways and behind brothels, every time you sought distraction with anyone that was not – they were never people you would settle down with, I hoped. You seemed happy with them but there was always something missing in your eyes.’

Jaskier let the song finish, trickling in a few notes to give it a rounded ending. Geralt was still busy with the roast but he was back to avoiding Jaskier’s gaze.

‘Every time you chose somebody who was not someone you could settle with, it hurt. It hurt because you deserve to be happy. And it hurt more that it wasn’t me or maybe because I was the reason you could not settle down, that I kept you from it and wasted your life,’ Geralt turned the spit with a grunt, ‘I didn’t mind but then you got chaos and it seemed like you had decided to embrace a new life that was nothing else, just like that. ‘

‘Geralt –‘

‘Who am I to ask of you – to keep you by my side?’

‘I will never stray from your path,’ Jaskier set the lute aside and moved around the fire, ‘my place is beside you, it is decreed by the gods now. Veles gave me chaos and time but I am making the decision. I want to spend my life by your side, helping you where once you were on your own. I am finally capable to do more than watch from a faraway distance, I can be there, make sure you won’t die because it’s more than an alderman told you. You won’t have to face any challenge not knowing whether you’ll get to your potions in time. I don’t need to stand next to you in a fight, if you worry. I can stay behind a bit, reach you with words and music only.’

A log cracked open on the fire, sparks flew up into the dark night sky and lit Geralt’s face. His eyes were red-golden in the fire light and Jaskier, still taken aback by the amount of words that had spilled over his lips whilst he played, wanted to see for himself what went on behind the poised expression. His eyes were the only part Geralt struggled to control, he had learned that when they first met the elves of Dol Blathanna. No matter how schooled and unmoving his expression was, his eyes were treacherous and told Jaskier more than all of his brusque replies.

‘Geralt,’ Jaskier caught the restless hand seeking something to busy itself with and held onto it between his own, ‘Geralt, don’t you know you possess my heart?’

A couple of logs slid off the pile, into the glowing embers, sparks flying to merge with the stars. Geralt tightened his hold around his hands and pulled them up in between them. His eyes were pleading with no more music to cover for his silence or to hide his words. Jaskier reciprocated his careful look.

He knew they stood at a cliff with a narrow bridge leading over an abyss, and despite the path ahead of them, a single step could topple them into the lonely darkness and solitude of a ruined friendship. That last step was what had held him back for so long, trying to keep hidden what was on the tip of his tongue, what had been there for years, ever since he met the Witcher in a dusty tavern. Geralt had not needed him, back then, had been satisfied with the guilt he thought he needed to feel. Jaskier had known soon enough that Geralt did not allow himself to want and have things. He had been trained to disregard his own needs and urges enough to forget about them after a while, like a lap dog that had forgotten its hunting instinct – only the other way around.

‘Your heart,’ Geralt repeated, ‘your heart is a fluttering bird, its song easily snuffed out.’

‘Well, so am I,’ Jaskier shrugged, ‘it’s no secret that I have shared intimacy with many people. It is a secret, however badly kept, who my heart belongs to. Veles told me to do something and I intend to make true of it.’

He looked at the hand he still held in his hand, both calloused and rough in their own ways and in different places from handling a lute and swords, still slotting into place, ‘I want to really learn, Geralt. I want to train and be able to be a real support of you when we continue our journey.’

‘Do you want to go back to Yennefer and Triss?’ Geralt sounded cautious in his question, as if unsure whether he wanted to hear his answer.

Jaskier nodded, ‘They know their stuff. But so do you, Geralt, and if I am to help you, we need to figure out what I can help you with, exactly. It might be a bit trial-and-error but I want to know.’

‘Good,’ Geralt nodded and moved his free hand to take the rabbits off the fire, ‘you should eat. We’ll reach a settlement soon, if you hunger for finer food.’

Jaskier took the offered food from him, letting go of Geralt’s hand. It hurt him a little to do so but there was no reasonable explanation for why he should hold on after they had finished the conversation, however empty it had left him. Dinner was a quiet time for them as Geralt returned to his taciturn ways and Jaskier struggled to talk or sing around a mouthful of food.

Once the rabbit roast was devoured, Roach watered for a last time and the bedrolls re-arranged around the fire to keep them warm, Jaskier slipped between the blankets and pulled them up to his nose. The distinct smell of horse hair clung to Jaskier’s bedroll as much as to anything else possessed. It came with the job and the lack of laundry opportunities. Even when they had the chance to wash something, they would not go for the thick blankets that took ages to dry, even if they stretched them out in the sun. He rolled a little closer to the fire to warm his back as the nightly cold seeped into the cloth and made him shiver a little. It took a moment to warm up the blankets with his body heat.

Geralt returned to their camp and settled into his blankets as well. The rustling of cloth and fabric grasped his attention for a moment before he could drift off to sleep entirely. He listened closely to every move the Witcher made, all familiar to him in their repetition and the way he had heard all of them so many times before.

Their routines were so well known to either of them that Jaskier found it easier to fall asleep once Geralt had settled into his bedroll. Dreamless sleep claimed him before Geralt had finished arranging his blankets.

The next morning came with birdsong and rays of sun in his face which made him regret not having paid attention to the place he had chosen to put his bedroll down in. He blinked himself awake and looked around the clearing. Roach was up already and neighed at him in a low tune, nodding and stomping. Jaskier wormed his way out of the nest of blankets he had created for himself and rolled out of the covers.

His morning routine was easy enough, catlick, new doublet, wipe over his chin to check whether he needed a shave and prepare something to eat before they set out onto the road again. Geralt was still curled into his bedroll and seemingly asleep but as soon as Jaskier began to move around their camp, he stirred a little and began to wake up as well. By the time he was on his feet, Jaskier had brushed down Roach and given her the last of the oats he had still left.

‘You said we’d hit a settlement soon? We need more fodder for Roach, otherwise she’ll have to leave the ditches along the road barren,’ Jaskier stuffed his bedroll back into the pack and searched through it to find the leftover dried fruits Zuzanna had given him to finish them off for his breakfast.

‘There’s a town along the way,’ Geralt shrugged his armour on, ‘time for us to return to society.’

‘Well, if that was supposed to be a joke,’ Jaskier rolled his eyes, ‘it needs work.’

‘Sure,’ Geralt saddled Roach, giving her a pat, ‘just like your songs. You’ll have to work even harder now because I will not allow you to use chaos to entrance your audience. This is for combat purposes only.’

‘Killjoy,’ Jaskier huffed and threw his bag over his shoulder, ‘no more heroic songs for you, then. I think you had too many of them be about you, it must have gone to your head.’

‘If you think so,’ Geralt finished packing up, ‘I can do without your singing. Question is, can you?’

Jaskier was unable to think of a quick-witted reply out before Geralt led Roach out of the underbrushes and back onto the dusty road. He followed the Witcher out of the dark woods and into the sunlight that cast its warmth onto the rich, green fields of the stretch of land.

‘So, Temeria. Fun country – do you want to pick up contracts on the way?’

‘Are you asking because you want to join the fight and test your limits a little further?’

‘Maybe,’ Jaskier shrugged, ‘it wouldn’t be the worst to get a little song out there. I could try to spur Roach on a little.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ Geralt made sure to tug the mare to the other side of the path, out of reach of any of Jaskier’s extremities.

Jaskier cackled a little and got his lute back out to provide them with some entertainment. It was never too early in the day to start singing for him, after all, and the ideas streamed back to him faster with every step they took.

‘Would you say you found a few new tunes on this adventure?’ It was Geralt who spoke up again, seemingly unfazed by anything going on around him but still looking out ahead of them, ‘seemed like inspiration ran dry for a bit.’

‘Not too dry,’ Jaskier smiled at him, ‘no, not with my greatest muse around.’

‘I thought you did not want to seek out Veles?’

‘Oh, my dear Witcher, you are mistaken if you believe a god to be capable of diverting my attention away from you, the strong hero of the tales of old. No, my songs are about you heroic tales and nobody else.’

‘What about _The Terrific, Tantalising Tale of the Scorned Hag of Rinde_? Was that about me, as well?’

Jaskier puffed up and strummed a dissonant chord on his lute, ‘There must be exceptions to rules, Geralt, otherwise, the world order will be unhinged and tipped into chaos.’

‘I’m sure Yennefer will share that view,’ Geralt grinned, ‘once she hears that song.’

‘Oh, I am sure she already does and just keeps that knowledge as leverage against me,’ Jaskier shook his head, ‘that woman is terrifying as long as she doesn’t say anything, as soon as she opens her mouth, however, the scared little girl comes out that she thinks she hides so well.’

‘All the worse that you wrote that song, then,’ Geralt added and coaxed Roach away from a tuft of grass at the side of the road, ‘going in for her weaknesses will never be something Yen sees in a favourable light.’

‘Oh, but I have all reason not to see her in a favourable light,’ Jaskier hurried to keep up with Geralt, ‘did she ever tell you what happened the moment I met her?’

‘Oh you mean your insatiable urge to sing _Toss A Coin_ the moment you woke up after, after the incident?’ Geralt smirked at him, ‘she mentioned that, yes.’

‘Oh – oh great, she did! Did she also mention what happened then?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, maybe me, waking up in a strange room I had no recollection ever walking into, in a strange bed with a crazed sorceress stalking towards me? Maybe that the only thing I could think of was to get her to realise that I travelled with a Witcher but there were no words that could make that clear, so I sang the one thing that came to mind? Laugh it up, Geralt, laugh it up, but she went straight for – well, the marbles.’

Geralt wheezed with laughter, so much so that he needed to stop. Jaskier, who had taken a few steps ahead before he noticed, stopped as well, tapping the ground beneath his feet impatiently.

‘What? What’s so funny about a moment that filled me with more fear than any creature you ever fought?’

‘Marbles,’ Geralt panted, wiping over his eyes as if he needed to get rid of tears obstructing his view which was something Jaskier was positive he did not need to do, ‘you call them marbles? How dainty and decent of you.’

‘So what?’ Jaskier crossed his arms, challenging the Witcher with a look, ‘What did you think I would say?’

‘Well, given that you seem to have a preference for the word ‘bollocks’ –‘

‘Yes, as an expression of nonsense, Geralt,’ Jaskier felt the need to change the subject the closer they got to actively and aggressively discussing his private parts, ‘by the way, bollocks to this whole conversation. I am going to continue onward, now, if you could graciously pick yourself off the ground and follow me.’

He turned on his heel and continued on the road. Geralt and Roach followed him after a moment, Jaskier could hear the hoof beats continue on the dirt track. For a few minutes, they continued, then, he could hear a strange sound behind them, a hissing and spluttering he could not place. Jaskier whirled around, a song on his lips to draw Geralt’s attention to the obvious ambush.

‘ _You're doing great / You've made so many passes / Please make one more / and Save both our asses_ – Geralt?’

Chaos crackled in the air surrounding him and he felt the surge of supporting magic leave his lips, ready to help Geralt in what he was sure would turn into combat. Again, he tried to find the source of the strange sound. The only thing he could spot far and wide was the Witcher, trying to hide and supress a laugh into the leather of his gloves. There was a gleam in his eyes that betrayed the mask of stoic calmness on his face and made it seem like a rather misfired attempt. The sound blubbering over his lips was new to Jaskier’s ears as he tried to comprehend the sight before him.

‘Geralt?’

‘It’s – you – you called them ‘marbles,’ and here I was, thinking you would go for ‘bollocks.’ It’s just odd, I would have pegged you as a ‘family jewels’ kind of guy, doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?’

‘Family jewels?’ Jaskier was dumbfounded, watching as Geralt slowly dissolved into a pile of giggles, ‘are you short of a m –‘

He interrupted himself and watched as Geralt proceeded to slap his thighs as if he had heard the best joke in all the continent and seemed to gasp for air in a display entirely new to him. Jaskier shook his head.

‘Whatever has gotten into you, are you possessed? This is not respectable behaviour for a Witcher, are you quite well, should I sing you a lullaby?’

Geralt managed to right himself a little, pointed a finger at him and managed to get some words out between laughter and gasps for air, ‘It’s – family jewels – has such a nice ring to it!’

‘Oh, it has a nice ring to it? I’ll give you a ring,’ Jaskier felt embarrassment surge up inside him that painted his cheeks hot and red, stomped up to Geralt and grabbed his hand in his, ‘who’s laughing now, huh?’

He slipped off one of his rings of his forefinger in one energetic move and pushed it onto Geralt’s, ‘There! Now you have a nice ring, too. Can we move on?’

He let the hand drop, turned around and strode ahead, wide steps taking him down the road he had previously made some progress on already. This time, he could not hear any sign of Geralt following him but he trusted the Witcher to get his laughter under control eventually. Without looking back over his shoulder, his lute still in his hands, he began to sing under his breath. It was no more than a rough outline of a song, a thought that had settled itself deeply into his conscience and didn’t let him rest. There were multiple of these ideas, floating around in his head, grabbing a hold of his thoughts every now and then, demanding his attention without further inclination to help him write them out. Jaskier took great pride in the amount of songs he could memorise without writing them down, even if he did, whenever he had the vacancy and peace of mind he needed to do so.

When he told Geralt his songs were about his heroic deeds he had all but slipped up. Most of his songs about Geralt were still on his mind, not yet shrouded in the covers he made up for the words that would betray him, otherwise. _My gallant lad is my hero_ , one of his own favourites ever since he had first sung it to an audience, still left him with the tickling of a risk he took when he sang it, so clear and vulnerable its words were. There were others, of course, that he wanted to sing but that were thinly veiled fantasies of his own being with Geralt.

Not that he would act on it, of course. What else were overnight acquaintances for?

He was prepared to walk to the next town by himself, if Geralt needed some more time to stop laughing. It occurred to him that he would have to get a room without knowing when the Witcher would follow. For Jaskier, that meant an evening spent in the public room, entertaining, maybe making some coin and almost certainly being distracted by people who had something in mind or a request. He would not turn them away, no, even if it got harder to play certain songs at the request of a young woman who wanted to show the man she had on her mind her love through a song that he was supposed to magically know was supposed to be for him. If it did not work, Jaskier at least got a coin out of it, in most cases.

By the time he reached the town and made it to the tavern, he felt thoroughly aggravated by the fact that Geralt still had not caught up to him. He felt the blood boil in his veins and his pulse throb against the drums of his ears. His steps were still energetic when he entered the tavern, despite the long day on his feet.

Introducing himself to the landlord, offering his services and asking for a room for himself and a companion was easy enough. The waiting was harder but even that got old after some time as he sat in a corner with a tankard full of ale that he stubbornly finished without thinking about Geralt or the way he willed him to step into the tavern so that he could tell him off for being a pillock.

‘Bard,’ someone slapped the table surface in front of him, ‘play something for us!’

Jaskier set down the tankard and grabbed his lute instead. The smile was back on his lips and the spring in his step when he announced himself to the people sitting in the room.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, tonight, here for you – let me entertain you with songs of old and new love, heroes and monsters! I am Jaskier the bard and this is _Toss A Coin To Your Witcher_.’


	12. Chapter 12

_Between in and between out_

_Between north and between south_

_Between west and between east_

_Between time and between space_

_From the shell_

_A song of the sea_

_Neither quiet nor calm_

_Searching fiercely for…_

_My love_

_Between wind and between wave_

_Between flood and between beach_

_From the shell_

_A song of the sea_

_Neither quiet nor calm_

_Searching fiercely for…_

_My love_

_Between coast and between stone_

_Between sense and between sea_

_I am between love_

_My love_

He had written the soft, plangorous song dreaming about the coast. The thought of the tides pulling on him, drawing him to his destiny, without regard for directions and expectations that had captured him and made it hard to ignore when he sang the song. At the same time, however, it seemed to give his presentation a little emotion he did not lace into his songs otherwise.

The song rang out into the room and left him wanting for a moment of stunned silence before applause filled the air. Patrons clapped and pounded their tankards onto the tables in front of him, even the landlord seemed to approve of the set he had played. A nod was thrown his way and then a wench was sent up to where he still accepted his applause with another ale for the bard. Jaskier grabbed it and drained most of it in one gulp, letting the cold drink wash away the strain of singing for a prolonged time. He kept it in his hands as he returned to the small pile of his belongings and stored the lute in its case.

There still was no sign of Geralt anywhere around the public room and Jaskier decided he had had enough of his antics. Lugging his pack through the room and collecting a few coins that were thrown in his direction, he made his way to the landlord behind his counter.

‘Thank you, master bard, for providing such an enjoyable entertainment,’ he slapped the wooden counter with the palm of his hand, ‘haven’t had such good a minstrel in this house for quite some time.’

‘Thank you for giving me an opportunity to play up,’ Jaskier yawned, ‘I will head up to the room you promised me, now.’

‘Sure, what about that companion you mentioned?’

Jaskier sighed and rubbed at his temples, ‘He shouldn’t be easy to overlook. A Witcher, white hair, golden eyes, bit grumpy.’

‘We don’t often get Witchers here,’ the landlord busied himself, ‘will he stay out of trouble?’

‘I should hope so. If he gets into trouble, though, just send him up to my room, he should arrive here shortly.’

‘Aye,’ the landlord nodded, ‘will do.’

Jaskier was halfway up the stairs when he called out again, ‘Just so you know, there are some folks around here who don’t necessarily like Witchers.’

‘Well, they should think about how they threat the men who protect human settlements from any kind of monster,’ Jaskier shrugged, ‘I’m going to be upstairs, and I would not like to be disturbed, if possible.’

‘Sure, sure,’ the landlord nodded.

Jaskier went up to the room he had been given. It was a nice room, spacious and light with windows away from the street; his performance seemed to have pleased the man enough to put him up well. He set down his things next to the bed and fell backwards onto the mattress, arms stretched out into the pillows.

He fell asleep soon after, feet finally off the ground.

***

The ruckus woke him up and had him darting out of his room within seconds after breaking out. Judging by the light still falling in through the room, he had been asleep for only a few minutes but his legs still felt leaden from the day on the road. He trotted down the stairs with nothing but the loose thought that he still had not seen Geralt.

A tankard flew past his head and shattered on the wall behind him. Jaskier yelped and hopped out of the way, bringing his hands up to shield his face from flying shards.

‘What’s going on?’

The landlord shrugged from behind the counter and ducked away nonchalantly as a chair leg sailed through the air, ‘Told you there were folk who don’t like Witchers coming to town.’

Jaskier sighed and looked around the room. Indeed, there were three men, circling around the familiar, hunched over figure of one Geralt of Rivia who sat at the same table Jaskier had occupied earlier. He ducked out of the way of projectiles hurled at him with ease, staring into his tankard and bowl of stew. The men around him were drunk and out to vandalise rather than outright attack, there was no doubt about it, and their aim was off, judging by the way everything they threw sailed in all directions.

The landlord cleared his throat and pointed at the table, ‘Take him upstairs and you can still stay. Have to get through them, though.’

Jaskier sighed, counted his blessings that he had seemingly rested long enough to have a clear mind to come up with a solution to the mess he had stepped into by coming downstairs. He crossed the first third of the public room, avoiding a candleholder that soared through the sir and landed somewhere behind him with a dull clink.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he bellowed, ‘I have returned, and I only have only one thing to say: _What is the difference between a dwarven wedding and a dwarven funeral? One less drunk._ ’

One of the men broke out into violent laughter and turned away from the table, unable to stay on his legs. Jaskier advanced without paying further attention to him.

‘ _There was a young man from Creyden / Who thought he’d at last found a tight ‘un./ He said, “Oh my love, / It fits like a glove.” / Said she, “But you’re not in the right ‘un._ ”

The second drunkard dropped to the floor, shaking with laughter, blinded by tears streaming from his eyes. Jaskier stepped up to the table and avoided a fist swinging out at him as the last man standing looked around, swaying and searching for his compatriots.

‘ _There was a young sailor named Bates / Who danced the fandango on skates. / But a fall on his cutlass / Has rendered him nutless, / And practically useless on dates._ ’

He sighed and watched the last man crumple to the side without completing his last swing at Geralt. The raunchy jokes his friends and he had come up with at the Academy seemed to have served him well. Jaskier knocked on the table.

‘Off we go then, dear Witcher,’ he sighed, ‘I’m sure we can get you another tankard to take to the room and some bread to soak up the stew with.’

As if on command, the landlord stepped around the counter and held out another drink and plate for them. Jaskier took them with a sharp nod and scaled the stairs again, this time clearly hearing Geralt follow him.

He stomped, rather than walked up the stairs and mumbled to himself a joke he had last heard on the evening before he had graduated, after a day of drinking and celebrating by letting their creative and other juices flow, ‘ _There was a young girl named Sapphire, / who succumbed to her lover’s desire, / she said “It’s a sin, / but now that it’s in, / could you shove it a few inches higher_?’

There was no chaos in that one as he allowed himself a short trip down memory lane. It still surprised him to hear chuckling from behind him. Jaskier turned back over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows. Geralt grinned up at him sheepishly.

‘Funny,’ he grunted and shrugged, ‘what were you doing back there?’

Jaskier noticed the lack of his previously so obvious tentativeness towards his chaos when he used it. Instead, it felt like honest interest in something Jaskier had experimented with, something that was new to him.

‘I made my words irresistible. Adding the jokes to get them out of the way was just some flavour,’ Jaskier explained with a small shrug, ‘would get a little boring otherwise. And those thick-skulled brutes would not have understood my more subtle wit, anyway.’

‘Nothing about you is subtle,’ Geralt stepped onto the landing behind him as Jaskier opened the door to his room, ‘but it was easier than to provoke a fight. Thank you.’

Jaskier tripped into the room, taken aback by the two words that had offered a warm embrace he had not been prepared for. A hand came up to hold his arm and keep him from tumbling to the ground.

‘Why did it take you so long?’ Jaskier set the bread and bowl of stew down before brushing off his doublet, ‘I secured us a room, finished all songs I could offer and took a nap, all before you even set foot into the public room.’

‘Not quite,’ Geralt hummed and sat down at the small table, moving bowl, bread and ale around to finish his dinner, ‘I could hear your last song from the stables when I saw to Roach.’

‘You did?’

Geralt nodded, ‘Sounded nice. A bit melancholic, is it an old one?’

‘An old one?’

‘You used to write songs like that for those noblewomen you fell in love with between banquets and hunts. Your emotions are all in your songs and most of the times, they are about being heartbroken and looking for directions to your true love.’

Jaskier sat down on the bed, tugging on the already disturbed blankets, ‘Why did it take you so long then? You didn’t answer the question.’

‘I needed to think,’ Geralt growled, ‘there were things on my mind.’

‘Like?’

Geralt held up his hand without another word. Jaskier’s ring glinted in the firelight, still around Geralt’s finger where he had put it.

‘You gave me a ring.’

‘Yeah, I know, stupid thing. You don’t have to keep it,’ Jaskier scratched the back of his head, ‘it was a spur of the moment thing.’

‘No,’ Geralt set down the empty tankard, ‘I am keeping it. I think what I wanted to say was that I needed some time.’

‘To talk to Roach?’

‘That, too.’

He soaked up the last of the stew with the last bite of bread, shoved it into his mouth and chewed it thoroughly. Jaskier watched him contemplate the empty plate before moving again.

There was a water bowl in the corner that Jaskier had used to wash off some of the road’s dust. The Witcher loosened the straps of his armour and carefully placed it down on the ground. He washed his face and ran his fingers through his hair, taking out the tie that held it back in the process. His hair fell open over his shoulders, and he tensed for a moment, as if he was beginning to overthink whatever was on his mind.

‘Geralt?’ Jaskier shifted on the bed, torn between staying put and moving to offer some sort of support to him, ‘Geralt, you look tired. Should we just call it a day and go to bed?’

Geralt turned around. His eyes were soft again, rimmed with dark circles and worry. Jaskier felt his heart sink a little when he shook his head.

‘No, we have avoided this long enough. There has been something on my mind since we left that sanctuary.’

Jaskier moved, making room on the bed for him, ‘What do you mean, have you found trust in Veles after all?’

‘No,’ Geralt sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him too much, ‘I will never trust the gods like that. I have seen the way he looked at you, though, it was plain to see. You have managed to make a god fall in love with you to the point of him showering you with gifts. That is something special, special enough to make you stand out amongst all others and I don’t know whether I can ensure that you get treated the way you deserve. I thought you might have liked to stay with Veles. Clearly, he would have made sure to spoil you, like you should be.’

Geralt worried his hands in his lap and avoided looking up. Jaskier could tell that he was not finished but for a moment, as loud laughter and the sounds of a night well and truly celebrated reached their ears from the public room, it seemed like the Witcher would have preferred to run. He pulled his knees in further to open up the space between them.

‘You asked me whether we could leave again, you indicated a slight interest in staying with me for a little while longer.’

‘Not just a little while,’ Jaskier said quietly, ‘I’m not planning on leaving you, anytime soon, Geralt. I am staying by your side, I promised, after all. I don’t want to leave, and I certainly didn’t want to stay with Veles.’

‘Why not? It would suit you, a cushy life, no worries and danger to threaten you, combined with a god who seemed ready to answer your every beck and call,’ Geralt wiped his hair out of his face, ‘why would you choose to travel with me, after being offered an opportunity?’

‘I don’t think it was an offer as much as a chance,’ Jaskier rubbed his arm, ‘Geralt, I don’t know how often we can dance around each other anymore before one of us explodes.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Veles did not offer for me to stay with him. He did not give me a few years on top of my human life to keep me around and he did not give me chaos to sit on a cushion and write odes to the divine creatures around him. His gifts are tailor-made for the life I chose long ago, now better prepared to pursue it than before.’

He lifted his hand out of his lap and set it down on Geralt’s arm, ‘I am by your side, wherever you’re going. I am choosing to do so and I will pledge my new gifts to you. No god has ever ruled my path and I have no intention of starting to let that happen now, I decide freely whom to bestow my affections on. And I decided long ago that you are to be that person.’

Jaskier tried to put into his words what he wanted him to know without spooking him with what was perpetually on the tip of his tongue, the emotion always there, waiting for him to slip up and tell Geralt what he knew would stretch their relationship too far. There were three words he still had not spoken since they seemed too much for a man who so carefully had built his reputation as an unfeeling, emotionless rock.

‘Jaskier,’ Geralt’s gruff voice made him lift his head when he heard no trace of an accusation, ‘Jaskier, are you trying to tell me something?’

He exhaled and met his gaze. Geralt’s eyes were bright and soft, a little guarded but, directed at him, more open than in the public room or in the streets. Jaskier tried to rake through his thoughts but could not find one he could express without the danger of ruining what they had.

‘Jaskier?’ Geralt’s hand came around his hand to cup it in his lap, ‘Jaskier, please tell me what you mean by that. I don’t think I can trust my own insight here. You are – you are a puzzle to me, in that regard.’

‘What do you think the puzzle means?’ Jaskier met his gaze, acutely aware of where his hand was warmed in Geralt’s.

He laced his voice with every ounce of suggestion he could muster. There was no reason for it, Geralt would not lie to him but he tried to get an extra edge to his answer. Geralt flinched, as if he noticed the chaos pulsing under his skin but his eyes did not stray from his.

‘I think you rejecting a god and that god deciding to show me a memory of yours has a deeper meaning. I’m not sure whether I got the right meaning out of it but it gives me something resembling hope. If you chose to stay by my side, if you are intent to take Veles’s gift and use it by my side to help –,‘ he broke off and cleared his throat, ‘I’m at my wits end, Jaskier, because the only conclusion, the thing I want it to mean –‘

Jaskier felt the grip around his hand tighten for the wink of an eye. Geralt looked to the side where lute and swords lay next to each other on the table, as if tangled in an embrace. There was a question and something near to pleading in his eyes, making him seem vulnerable and open to his judgement.

‘If I acted on what I think we both mean about now or in the foreseeable future, could you promise not to punch me?’

Geralt met his gaze again, worry and nerves plain to see on his face, ‘What are you planning to do? I feel like I should ask you before you do anything.’

Jaskier sighed quietly to himself before he plucked up the courage to make a move. He screwed his eyes shut and began to sing.

_My gallant lad is my hero_

_He’s my warrior, gallant lad_

_I have neither sleep nor rest_

_Since my gallant lad went far away._

_The songbirds’ song has lost its cheer_

_The facile friends lost all their play_

_The learned men are all so sad_

_Since my boy is nowhere near._

_My gallant lad is my hero_

_He’s my warrior, gallant lad_

_I have neither sleep nor rest_

_Since my gallant lad went far away._

_He’s like a young god just for me_

_Like king of nature and of tree_

_Golden heart and will of stone,_

_Still, he left me here alone._

_My gallant lad is my hero_

_He’s my warrior, gallant lad_

_I have neither sleep nor rest_

_Since my gallant lad went far away._

He poured every feeling into the song, the song he had written to praise and worship the Witcher by his side. His voice was smaller and softer after an evening spent singing in the tavern downstairs but still powerful enough to show off the emotion and love in every word.

Whilst he sang, partly to distract himself, partly to once again open up an opportunity for Geralt to contemplate their situation. It was by far not the most temperamental melody he had ever performed and his voice cracked a little after having been strained all evening, even when he lowered his volume to hardly more than a hum. It still seemed to affect Geralt who avoided his gaze as he finished off the song.

‘You sang that one in Vizima, to Zuzanna.’

‘I did.’

‘It’s nice. A bit melancholic maybe, but still very touching. I’m glad you managed to work through his loss.’

‘Whose?’

‘What?’

Jaskier’s head snapped up and he had to keep himself from grabbing at Geralt’s shirt, ‘Who did I lose?’

‘Well, Veles, of course,’ Geralt frowned a little, ‘the god, the king of nature? That’s him, isn’t it?’

‘No,’ Jaskier sat, shocked by the honest frown, ‘do you mean to tell me that you actively listened to one of my songs and still managed to misunderstand it? Oh dear, Geralt.’

He let his hand rest on Geralt’s arm, ‘Geralt, my king of nature, it’s not Veles, it’s you.’

‘Me?’

‘Of course, you,’ Jaskier let his voice soften, ‘it’s always you. Golden heart and will of stone, that’s you.’

He traced Geralt’s arm, up to his shoulder, his throat, letting his palm rest against the warm skin. Geralt caught his eyes and drew in a cautious breath.

‘You write songs about me? Ones that are not about dramatically exaggerated fights?’

‘Of course,’ Jaskier tried to hold his gaze, ‘they all are about you.’

‘But you sing of warm, fine things, of shared feelings and – and love.’

‘Yes,’ he sighed, curling his fingers into Geralt’s neck, ‘I do.’

With that, he leaned in and kissed him.


	13. Chapter 13

Kissing Geralt had been in the top position on his list of things he would like to do very much if he ever got the chance, felt like challenging the fates and was sure it would not result in his death for a long time. Still, as he pressed his lips to Geralt’s, he could not help but think of the slight possibility of a sword or dagger striking him down that was still very much a threat and likely to hit him once he stopped.

Since he was still human and his lungs’ capacity, however impressive after years and years of practice and exercise, was not without limits, eventually, Jaskier had to break away and take a breath. He managed to avoid looking at Geralt’s face and expression entirely, not ready to see disgust and rejection there. His hands fell from Geralt’s neck and came to rest in his lap, fiddling with a loose tread that stuck out from the seam down his leg.

‘Jaskier?’ Geralt’s voice was breathy, as if he tried to be as quiet and non-threatening as possible, ‘Jaskier, please will you look at me?’

‘No,’ he kept his eyes cast down, as if the inevitable could be avoided as long as he did not see it.

‘Jaskier, there is nothing we haven’t said, there is nothing left we could possibly say that will change anything, right now. I might need longer to understand you sometimes but you asked me something that I just now understood. You asked me, ‘ _Don’t you know you possess my hear_ t,’ and it is something I dismissed so easily before. I do that.’

Geralt sighed, ‘When you live on your own for as long as I have, you forget what it feels like to have somebody there who partakes in the things that matter to you. You re-evaluate things when there’s someone with you who leads you back onto a path you left.’

He took Jaskier’s fingers in his, lifted them to his lips and pressed a clumsy kiss to the back of his hand. Jaskier’s eyes finally snapped up and found Geralt’s. The Witcher gave him a reassuring smile that was warm and open, asking him for his permission to continue and Jaskier, eyes burning and throat a little raw, was happy to let him do the talking for once.

‘I think we have tried to tell each other a few things for a long time and managed to talk past each other every time we were honest about ourselves. I wanted to seek out Veles to see whether I could trust him with your well-being, thinking that if I could not have you, the people who would should be deserving of all of you. It made it easier to ignore the nagging in my head that wanted to just take you away from all of them,’ he pressed another kiss to Jaskier’s hand, growing more confident with every moment.

Jaskier felt his eyes well up seeing Geralt open and vulnerable next to him. He grabbed Geralt’s hand to return the favour with a kiss to rough hands more used to handling swords and cutting down monsters than a cherished touch and love.

‘You utter bastard,’ he moved closer to Geralt and let his head sink against his shoulder, ‘saying things like that when usually, there’s nothing but a grunt and an angry look to get from you!’

He mouthed words into the collar of Geralt’s shirt, hiding the emotions pouring from his – he interrupted his own thoughts before they could get out of hand. Geralt’s hand came to rest on his head, threading through his hair and holding him close.

‘I was so busy worrying about whether I could possibly demand something like affection from you that I forgot about all the things you told me last night. You professed your heart to be mine and I brushed away any possibility of you truly meaning it. You tried to tell me something and I was more concerned with telling you that I would never send you away but worry about you getting hurt by my side too much to tell you to stay with me. After years of watching you find pleasure for a single night, I was not sure whether you would even consider me and it made me wish to understand you.’

‘What is there to understand?’ Jaskier whispered, face still hidden, ‘I was a silly boy when we met, a boy who fell in love with everyone for a bit and moved on without getting his own heart broken, in most cases. And I still am like that, I fall in love with the people we meet; that’s why I entertain them and allow them to escape their lives for a bit with my music, I am flighty in my affections and the people who spend a night with me know that, they all do. They don’t expect me to stay, they don’t feel like they need to pay attention to me and what I say. If I’m lucky, they know I’m that bard, the one with the song about a Witcher. I got used to it, needed what little I could get to stay sane. I couldn’t have what I wanted, so I needed something else to take my mind off it.’

He felt the hand in his hair carefully pull him back a little, making him meet his eyes, ‘What do you want, Jaskier?’

Jaskier felt the hand securing him in its strong hold and the eyes raking over his face. Geralt pleaded with him, using nothing more than his look to level him enough to cut through the mess of thoughts in his head.

‘You,’ he whispered eventually, ‘I want you.’

Geralt pulled him in for another kiss, carefully cupping his face and hugging him close. Jaskier surrendered into the embrace, let himself be guided in the new, shared intimacy. It was better than he had imagined and as he moved into the kiss and managed to get his own hands up from where they were trapped between them.

They grew bolder and the unsure, clumsy kiss changed into more. Jaskier heard Geralt fumble and felt him move, tugging his boots off his feet without breaking away from him before pulling his legs up and onto the bed. He pulled Jaskier in his lap and dove into the kiss again, closing the last distance between them. Jaskier felt the heat radiating from the Witcher, it made him comfortable and brave in his approach. Geralt turned to clay in his hands and he found himself taking over a little more, pushing against his chest and working on the strings of his shirt, busying his fingers and trying to get more contact at the same time. All of a sudden, he could not get close enough to Geralt and even a small break as they gasped for air in between hungry kisses was almost too much for them.

‘Geralt,’ he moaned and followed his cheekbones with his lips, pressing kisses to them, ‘Geralt, I don’t – I don’t think we can – we should –‘

Geralt swallowed his protests into his mouth before snaking his arms around Jaskier’s hips. They tumbled to the side, Jaskier hit the pillows hard and moved into the warm embrace Geralt opened up for him. He shuffled closer and pressed his head in the crook of his neck, close enough that he could breathe in Geralt’s scent. The heat of their first kisses had simmered down a little once they both realised that the words uttered between them had been genuine and no dream, nothing that would fizzle out after a night of shared embraces and touches, words whispered under their breath and shared thoughts that they had not voiced ever since they had had them for the first time.

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt as well and cradled his Witcher’s head to his chest, weaving his fingers in his long, loose hair and scratched his scalp like he would do with a puppy. As he raked his fingers through the soft strands, he found out just how receptive Geralt was to the little touches and relished in the noises that blubbered out of his mouth once he found out where to apply pressure to override Geralt’s inhibitions about letting go of himself. He had no intention to make him feel uncomfortable with his touches so he kept them playful but remained open to all of his responses, aware of the novelty of the situation.

The soft sighs coming from Geralt’s lips made him content with himself, pleased to feel him let go and melt into the embrace. Jaskier was captured in the way his eyelids fluttered, fighting to stay open and watch, maybe not exactly trusting the new situation but too comfortable to really worry about letting his guard down. He watched Geralt struggle for a bit, overwhelmed and tired after a day that had thrown them back and forth.

‘You can close your eyes,’ he leaned forward and pressed soft kisses to his closed eyelids, ‘I won’t leave you and I won’t be whisked away by a god anymore. I promise. You can sleep, if you want to, just sleep and let the day pass by.’

‘Will you sing for me?’ Geralt’s voice emerged from the pillows into which he had buried his head in embarrassment as soon as Jaskier pulled back, ‘You sing for everybody. You’ve sung for Veles and for the people downstairs, making them feel something, will you sing like that for me, too?’

‘Of course, dear,’ Jaskier continued his caress of Geralt’s head, propped against the pillow, one of his hands in his hair, the other resting on his chest, feeling the slow heartbeat against his own pulse, ‘I’ll sing you to sleep, you look bone-tired and in need of some rest. Call it a Song of Rest, if you’d like.’

Geralt merely hummed into his embrace, eyes staying closed for once. He seemed to have accepted that Jaskier was intent on seeing him sleep without the usual restlessness, not needing to take a watch over them for once.

_I will marry_

_I will marry_

_You will go over to the ford, so you will_

_You will come over to the ford, so you will_

_You will go over to the ford, you’ll pay your lad a visit_

_Where you left your chosen one, so you will._

_Oh he’s my darling,_

_He’s my darling_

_He will not drink._

_He’s my delight,_

_He’s my delight,_

_He will not drink._

_I love his eyes and the eyebrows above them_

_The lad is the love of my heart, I love him so._

_Coming on the sea is the one I’ll marry_

_Coming on the sea is the one I’ll marry_

_Coming on the sea is the tall handsome lad_

_I will marry the witcher of the silver steel._

_Oh he’s my darling,_

_He’s my darling_

_He will not drink._

_He’s my delight,_

_He’s my delight,_

_He will not drink._

_I love his eyes and the eyebrows above them_

_The lad is the love of my heart, I love him so._

_I will marry_

_I will marry_

_Oh he’s my darling,_

_He’s my darling_

_He will not drink._

_He’s my delight,_

_He’s my delight,_

_He will not drink._

_I love his eyes and the eyebrows above them_

_The lad is the love of my heart, I love him so._

_Coming on the sea is the one I’ll marry_

_Coming on the sea is the one I’ll marry_

_Oh coming on the sea is the tall handsome lad_

_I will marry the Witcher of the mountain keep._

_Oh he’s my darling,_

_He’s my darling_

_He will not drink._

_He’s my delight,_

_He’s my delight,_

_He will not drink._

_I love his eyes and the eyebrows above them_

_The lad is the love of my heart, I love him so._

_I will marry_

_Coming on the sea_

_On the sea_

_Coming on the sea._

_Oh he’s my darling,_

_He’s my darling_

_He will not drink._

_He’s my delight,_

_He’s my delight,_

_He will not drink._

_I love his eyes and the eyebrows above them_

_The lad is the love of my heart, I love him so._

Geralt fell asleep in his arms before he had completed singing the first chorus, chaos lulling him into sleep and closing his eyes for good. His breathing evened out and Jaskier felt the fingers curled into his shirt relax and grow lax before slipping off his waist entirely. He arranged the blankets around the both of them, carefully tugging it over Geralt’s passed out form, even though he knew that nothing would rouse him as long as the song’s magic encapsulated him for a few more hours, allowing him to rest his body, mind and soul.

Jaskier took a moment to sort through their belongings to clear a path to the small table in the corner. He looked around the room for a last time, his eyes getting itchy with tiredness and his weary bones desperate for sleep. He blew out the last candle in the room and returned to bed, slipping under the blanket and wrapping an arm back around Geralt. Before he drifted off, he could feel Geralt moving unconsciously towards him under the blanket, pressing himself closer to him and forcing his head under his chin. Jaskier yawned and carefully moved his arms around him enough to stabilise him as he, too, fell asleep.

He did not realise he had woken up for a few minutes when he did, too deep in a dream he had had about being warmed thoroughly, from the inside and out. It took him a while to open his eyes, blinking into the sunlight. Jaskier struggled to remember when he had last slept in long enough to not only have blinding rays of sunshine in his face but also the warmth of it enveloping him as he woke up from a restful night of sleep without interruptions, noises from a street or a root digging into his back.

Just judging by the height on the sun, Jaskier imagined it was late morning and he still in bed, something he usually did not get to enjoy. He blinked his eyes open against the light and tried to see whether anything had happened over night that would justify the apparent absence of Geralt bustling about to pack and get ready for the road again.

Turning his head slightly, he found Geralt next to him, arms wrapped around his waist. His head rested on the pillow but his eyes were open, watching him wake up with a fond smile. There was a bright twinkle in his eyes, amused to see Jaskier claw through the layers of sleepiness and rest.

‘Good morning,’ Jaskier yawned, stretching his arms before placing them around Geralt’s neck, ‘did you get some rest?’

‘Slept better than usual, for sure,’ Geralt smiled softly, ‘thank you for the lullaby.’

‘My pleasure,’ Jaskier turned back over his shoulder to his pack, ‘what time is it?’

‘Early, still. We don’t have to rush, if you don’t want to.’

‘Geralt of Rivia not leaving an inn at first light? Who are you and what have you done to him?’

‘Not when I finally have you in my arms and no contract to follow up on,’ Geralt drew him in a little closer, ‘now, how much more inclined are you to follow last night’s rushed instincts, now that we are awake?’

‘Oh you say the sweetest things,’ Jaskier sighed and curled into the warmth of the blanket and Geralt’s arms, ‘but I’m pretty sure my breath must be disgusting right now.’

‘Quick break to get you all flowery again?’

Jaskier reluctantly wormed his way out of the bed and dashed across the room to the wash basin in the corner. He quickly took care of himself and took off his shirt in the process. An appreciative hum came from the bed and he felt his cheeks warm up.

‘Oh hush you big roué,’ he scolded without turning back, ‘go freshen yourself up and I will kiss you silly.’

Jaskier returned to the comfortable bed and slipped under the still warm blankets. Geralt rolled out of the bed as well to head to the wash basin, offering Jaskier a view of his back. He watched as he, too, tugged his shirt over his head and washed himself. The muscles moving under his skin were clearly visible and pushed out as hard strands that left Jaskier’s throat dry and his heart beating faster. He watched the deliciously shining skin, the scars and marking stretching across the bones hidden beneath strong muscles and flesh. Jaskier wiped over his mouth absentmindedly, not quite sure whether he had drooled onto the pillow.

‘Enjoying the view?’ Geralt turned back around, combing through his hair with wet fingers.

‘Very much.’

Geralt grinned, predatory smile on his lips as he stalked back towards the bed. Jaskier shuffled under the blankets and waited for the mattress to dip on the other side of him but nothing happened. He opened his eyes again, looked up and met Geralt’s eyes as he hovered above him.

‘Were you waiting for me,’ he growled and let his tongue slip over his canines.

Jaskier threw his arms out and slung them around his neck and pulled him down, into a kiss he intended to show Geralt what he wanted from him. The kiss turned hungry soon and Jaskier pushed into Geralt’s mouth, demanding more of him. Geralt let him do as he liked for a bit, following his lead and allowing him to drag him into the bed. The needy sounds spilling from his lips spurred Jaskier on to dig deep and get them out of Geralt. He wrapped his legs around Geralt’s waist and pulled. Using the momentum, he pushed Geralt into the pillows and straddled his hips, beginning to move immediately. He ground down against his crotch, felt Geralt’s hands come up to his chest and fumbled, looking for something to hold onto. Jaskier stuttered in his rhythm for a moment when Geralt found his shoulders but continued, moaning into his mouth and drawing him closer and searching for the fastening of his trousers with one hand between their bodies.

***

They had decided to stay for another night since they would get nowhere from starting out in the late afternoon. Geralt lay in their bed, propped onto an elbow, drawing patterns onto Jaskier’s sweaty back with a careful finger. They had finished a late lunch before the Witcher dragged his bard back on top of him with a promise and a kiss that had left both of them hungry again.

Jaskier lay, with arms curled under the pillow and watched Geralt out of lazy eyes, ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’

Geralt replied with a hum and a soft press of lips to Jaskier’s shoulder blade, ‘That bastard was right in one aspect.’

It took Jaskier a moment to catch up on the words that had left his lips. He turned his head, meeting Geralt’s gaze with his own questioning one.

‘What are you talking about, dear?’

Geralt pressed a trail of kisses up his spine and along the shoulders, humming wordlessly into his warm skin. Jaskier shuddered with the promise implied in these touches, moving up into the warm lips and the tongue dragging along his neck.

‘Veles had a point, after all,’ Geralt captured his lips in another soft kiss that left Jaskier breathless, ‘you, dear bard, are amazing in bed.’

Jaskier snorted into the pillow and threw his arms across Geralt’s chest to push his head away from him, ‘I better prove your point once again, then, don’t you agree? And this time, I am not slowing down until you beg me to.’

He felt Geralt’s heart skip a beat underneath his hand. Satisfied with himself, he rolled them over again.


	14. Epilogue ... of sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The final chapter on this little thing that turned out a big longer than expected. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing!

_Much, much Later_

Vizima lay in glorious sunlight in the green valley before them, roof tiles glinting golden in the wealthy quarters towards the city centre, and river and lake shimmering like a mirror, reflecting the blues of the undisturbed sky above. Jaskier could see the pigeons perched on crests and weather vanes, he saw the busy streets filled with people. The market was filled with people whose noise was clearly audible from out of the city and up on the hill he stood on.

‘Looks like it’s market day in Vizima,’ he grinned, ‘we picked a good day to return, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Hm,’ Geralt let his shoulders sag a little, ‘Roach won’t like having to fight for a way through crowded streets and the market bustle.’

‘No, she wouldn’t,’ Jaskier leaned past him and rubbed her neck, caressing her crest with carefully pressing fingers, ‘she really shouldn’t have to walk amongst all these people who cannot see and understand her worth and everything she does for them every day.’

‘Are we still talking about Roach and the unlikely case of her not tripping over somebody if we go straight through the crowds?’

‘No,’ Jaskier looped his arms with Geralt’s and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips, ‘we’re really not.’

Geralt grunted and wrapped his own arm around his waist, pulling him into his side to return the kiss and turning it into something more, ‘Do you still know the way through the back alleys that get you through the city without having to cross the market place?’

‘Of course,’ Jaskier slipped his other hand into Geralt’s hair for a second, ‘we’ll be there in no time without a single soul seeing us, if I have anything to do with it. Save for the pigeons, maybe.’

‘Good,’ Geralt nodded and leaned into his touch, ‘do you still have the bag with components?’

‘Wouldn’t dare to lose it, darling,’ Jaskier patted his bag, ‘we fought hard for those, after all.’

‘We really did,’ Geralt nosed at his nape and pressed another kiss to the patch of skin peeking out over Jaskier’s collar, ‘you deserve to kick your legs up for a bit after this.’

‘No better place than the house of two scary sorceresses to do that,’ Jaskier panted into Geralt’s shoulder, ‘now would you please stop that or my knees will give out right here and you’ll have to either carry me or allow me to ride Roach.’

‘I’m making you weak at the knees?’ Geralt stepped back, leaving Jaskier cold and wanting immediately with the loss of his proximity and warmth.

Jaskier simply turned on his heel and continued the descent from the hilltop without looking back, not wanting to give Geralt the satisfaction of his neediness. He heard Roach’s hooves on the path and Geralt’s laugh as he strode on purposefully, pretending like his touches had not made him uncomfortably warm and tight in his pants. It was something there was no place for on the road, even less so when Geralt was there to wind him up about it.

He led them into the city and through the back alleys, far away from the busy, bustling market place and the people shouting at each other, praising their produce and rivalling for costumers. Geralt and Roach followed him as Jaskier skimmed through the streets, singing under his breath to turn people away from their path, all of them suddenly remembering something they had planned on doing on the other side of the city. In this way, they arrived at Triss Merigold’s town house without meeting anyone and Jaskier could knock on the main gate and push it open for Roach to pass through without anyone observing their arrival.

‘This is so much easier than cutting everyone who steps into our way,’ he sighed once Geralt had handed Roach over to the stable hand, ‘no blood, no insults, no slinging back insults at a moron, so relaxing.’

‘Sure,’ Geralt took their bags and planted another kiss on his forehead, ‘must have been quite the feat you took upon yourself.’

‘You stop that teasing immediately, Geralt, a man of your position should know better than to tease your closest friend, companion and partner. I will refuse to share my bed with you, if you continue like that.’

‘Really? You will refuse yourself my company? I’d like to see you cope without me there for a night. Who’s going to warm you up when you wake up in the middle of the night after you kicked the blanket off your legs again?’

‘You mean after you steal the blanket and pretend like you just accidentally found it on your side? Sure,’ Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest, ‘truly chivalrous of you, dear.’

Geralt hummed and followed him to the main door. Jaskier still huffed a little, to give himself an air of annoyance that he kindled and nurtured until they entered the reception hall where Triss and Yennefer were waiting for them. Both of them wore teal and a shiny blue-green that complimented them alike. Jaskier could imagine what it would cost to get two full outfits from such fine cloth but also remained fairly sure they had never paid the full price for a single one of their robes.

Both sorceresses smiled at them knowingly as if they knew something they could barely keep to themselves as they entered the room. Yennefer, at least, seemed ready to burst into their faces. Her grin was both overjoyed and dark, a promise dripping from her lips like honey, ready to lure in the bear and sting him.

‘There you are, we were expecting you back a while ago. Don’t tell me those little beasties kept you all this time,’ she smugly plucked a piece of fluff off her sleeve, ‘did you find the spell components we asked you for?’

‘Never do that again,’ Jaskier exploded, a finger pointing at her with an anger he had not felt a second before but that was kindled by her nonchalant posture, ‘don’t ever tell us you’re absolutely positive and one hundred percent sure there is no danger whatsoever in that beautiful, serene forest, nothing even remotely interested in a Witcher. Did you know about the fucking monsters all this time?’

‘Jaskier,’ Geralt’s voice sounded amused behind his back, ‘don’t start.’

‘We agreed to do one thing for her, Geralt, one thing, and the only thing she can come up with is telling us we’re late and just asking whether we’ve got the bloody plants? That is disrespectful to both your work and the risk you put yourself at. We had this discussion a few times on the way and I know I agreed I wouldn’t say anything but that just about affirmed it. Selfish, bloody sorceresses!’

‘Oh, so you come across a little beastie and tuck in your tail?’ Yennefer laughed out loud, her violet eyes glinting.

Behind her, Triss reached out for her arm to stop her and hold her back with a look that could have been amused as much as fed up, ‘Yen, didn’t you tell them about the reports before sending them out there into the swamps?’

‘Nothing a Witcher couldn’t deal with, right, Geralt?’ Yennefer turned around to Geralt who seemed to try and blend into the shadows, ‘oh come on, big deal, a Witcher gets in trouble. Why, Jaskier can even defend himself now!’

Jaskier held himself back from jumping at her. Instead, he muttered a word he had read in an ancient book during one of his more recent trips to Oxenfurt and clapped his hands at her, anger about her behaviour lacing the movement when he let go of the spell.

Thunder echoed back from the walls of the room, a powerful sound inside the house on this warm and sunny day that he knew would be heard throughout the city, shaking the floor around him, rattling the windows and sending rippling waves through the air. Yennefer was pushed back a few feet with a yell, out of reach of both Triss and Jaskier. The bard huffed and turned on his heel, pressing a bag into Triss’s arms once the thunder had died down around them.

‘The components, as requested. Next time, Yenna, think about your manners. We’ll head into the garden to heal Geralt up, there are a few nasty wounds that I couldn’t heal entirely up until now because of poisons getting in the way, it’ll need a few more directly aimed spells for that. Seriously, you could have warned us, if you knew even in the slightest about the three nests,’ his temper cooled down fast once it had discharged itself in this manner.

He pulled Geralt along who shrugged with a grin in Triss and Yennefer’s direction, the latter one scrambling to get back onto her feet. There still was a hint of a limp in Geralt’s steps and Jaskier fussed about it all the way into the gardens. He made the Witcher sit down on a bench they had worked on carving into an ornate piece during one of their stays between contracts and procuring rare spell component for the sorceresses who – usually – as Jaskier pointed out, were a lot more polite.

The smell of fresh bread and sweet treats wafted into the gardens from the kitchen and a few moments later, Zuzanna stepped through the door, a wooden tray in her hands. Her steps around the small, gurgling pond were still sturdy and purposeful, her face set as she came towards them.

‘There you are, the lady said to await you today! You must eat something after your journey,’ she set the tray down next to Geralt and pulled a white sheet of linen from the things she had brought, revealing a loaf of still-warm herb bread and butter, cups of ale and some fresh tomatoes, ‘go on then, eat whilst it’s still fresh.’

She crossed her arms over her apron, watching them intently. Geralt bowed his head, having learned not to refuse the cook by stalling or hesitating to follow her instructions, and tore a piece off the loaf whilst Jaskier busied himself with the injuries he knew he still bore, delayed in their healing by poison and a lack of specific potions that Yennefer had said they would not need. The bard cursed her under his breath.

Geralt’s hand cupped his chin, a warm expression on his face with the bread in his hands, ‘No need crying over spilled milk, now. We’re alive, Triss and Yennefer will be able to come up with that potion they’ve been working on and eventually, we’ll be able to go down to Cintra and end what we started years ago. I’m still thankful to have you by my side and by this time, I thought you would feel the same. You may fuss about these cuts today and today only, my lark, but from tomorrow on, I will be the one to spoil you again.’

He sealed his words with a kiss to Jaskier’s lips that nipped any protest in the bud and tasted of warm bread and sunlight soaked in ale. Zuzanna laughed at them before she turned and pretended to weed the herbary close to them. Jaskier melted into the hands cupping his chin and face and pressed a kiss into the palm warming his skin.

‘Let me look after you, then,’ he agreed and began to unravel the makeshift bandages around Geralt’s thigh that he had first wrapped around there after their fight with what had proven a tough enemy protecting the rarest of magical plants.

A bird flew across the yard and sat on the highest branch of the blossoming cherry tree behind them, singing his song. Jaskier joined in, providing his own melody, as his dextrous fingers made quick work of the wounds. He could feel Geralt, warm and firm under his hands, an ever-present reminder of his presence and he could not help but follow every stitch, every herb concoction pressed into gashes and every new bandage with a new kiss between assuring words that spilled from his lips, whether they were for Geralt’s comfort or his own. Zuzanna worked in the herb beds, humming along to the song he had written on a long summer evening with Geralt nestling into his side and following the lines of his hands.

Triss and Yennefer came to join them in the garden, the latter nodding a silent understanding that the bard returned. Without doubt, townspeople would start appearing at the door later on, begging to receive magical remedies and spells against the thunder that came from a blue sky and left them scared of whatever chaos or curse was upon them. The sorceresses sat on another bench, hands entangled similarly to Geralt and Jaskier’s once he was finished taking care of the wounds left to be healed.

As he sang the last stanzas, he stretched his chaos from its focus on Geralt’s wounds, out into the garden and towards Yennefer who had pressed a cloth to her forehead to tend to a small gash she had received in Jaskier’s thunderous fury. She would understand, she always did. It was part of the understanding they had come to, him looking out for Geralt, she insisting she no longer cared.

His gaze drifted towards the small shrine in an overgrown corner that Geralt had helped him build, not from stone but from nature and everything it could give. No one prayed at it but it seemed appropriate. Even if Geralt at first had looked at it like the bard once looked at Yennefer until he understood that Geralt was entirely serious about his relationship with him, allowing a small space for Veles had quenched Jaskier’s urge to leave in the middle of the night without good-byes at once. After all, he had what felt like an eternity by Geralt's side.

For once, he was happy.

_This is my bed, this is my lad_

_This is my bed for a short while_

_This is my bed, the place where I go_

_This is my bed after the adventures of the day._

_This is my bed, my place of ease_

_This is my bed, my place without a care in the world_

_This is my bed, and if you come be ready for me_

_This is my bed, where I awake._

_I hope you’ll stay or return if you go_

_I hope you’ll taste my kiss_

_I hope you’ll stay or return if you go_

_I hope you’ll taste my kiss_

_Kiss my kiss_

_When I kiss your lips._

_This is my bed, my harbour and my beloved_

_This is my bed, where I do sleep_

_This is my bed, where I spend the night_

_This is my bed, happy with you by my side_

_This is my bed, my place of ease_

_This is my bed, my place without a care in the world_

_This is my bed, this is how I like it_

_This is my bed, but never on my own._

_I hope you’ll stay or return if you go_

_I hope you’ll taste my kiss_

_I hope you’ll stay or return if you go_

_I hope you’ll taste my kiss_

_Kiss my kiss_

_When I kiss your lips._

_My soft bed,_

_My big bed,_

_My warm bed,_

_My fresh bed,_

_My bright bed,_

_My clean bed,_

_My bed in the world._

_Stay a while_

_Take a breath or two_

_Stay a while_

_This is my bed, this is my lad_

_This is my bed, for my short while_

_This is my bed, this is the place where I go_

_This is my bed, after the adventures of the day_

_This is my bed, my place of ease_

_This is my bed, my place without a care in the world_

_This is my bed and if you come be ready for me_

_This is my bed, where I awake._

_I hope you’ll stay or return if you go_

_I hope you’ll taste my kiss_

_I hope you’ll stay or return if you go_

_I hope you’ll taste my kiss_

_Kiss my kiss_

_When I kiss your lips._

_My soft bed,_

_My big bed,_

_My warm bed,_

_My fresh bed,_

_My bright bed,_

_My clean bed,_

_My bed in the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Here we are!


End file.
